


The Consequences That Naturally Follow

by ValkyrieCry



Series: Capture and Enrapture [2]
Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Canon Divergence, Gore, Light BDSM, M/M, Other, Post-Collector, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 49
Words: 98,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyrieCry/pseuds/ValkyrieCry
Summary: For every action, there is a reaction. Arkin was currently learning just how bad that reaction can get. Trapped in a madhouse with a psycho, all he wants is to get out. Too bad the Collector has other ideas.Sequel to Not For Long
Relationships: The Collector/Arkin O'Brien
Series: Capture and Enrapture [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581334
Comments: 166
Kudos: 373





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! After a positive response to my one-shot, I’ve decided to create a full-length story, and hopefully turn this into a series!:) Please enjoy, and give any feedback you feel necessary. Hope you enjoy this late Christmas gift, and if you don’t celebrate Christmas, well, I just hope you like it.:)

LET ME OUT, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”

  
  


It was dark. It was cramped. He could taste blood on his lips, falling off in little bits and pieces, coughing at how dry and ragged his throat felt. His whole body hurt, the shallow rips and tears all over his back and hands screaming for attention while his spine had a deeper, almost crippling ache fading in and out of focus. For sure, this had been a mistake. Stepping into that house had been a mistake. If Arkin had known he would be thrown in a trunk that belonged to a psychopath serial killer, he would have found a different way to save his family. He would have found a different option, he would have done anything else, Hell, he would have gone and killed those damn debt collectors if he had to. Anything to have not been here, trapped with this sick Fuck.

  
  


“DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU FAGGOT?! LET ME OUT! I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!”

  
  


Arkin slammed his less injured hand against the side of the trunk, once, twice, trying to dig his nails into the thick, sturdy fabric, only succeeding in breaking one of the nail beds, causing fresh agony to drag him back into reality. He couldn’t break through the fabric, couldn’t scratch his way out, but he could provoke the asswipe, get this trunk opened again. If the trunk was open, he could fight, he could escape, he could get to Lisa. He saw the Fucker’s face, he could turn him in! He needed to hurry, it was already so late, he needed to get that ruby sold!

  
  


“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!”

  
  


A bang near his head startled him, causing him to smack into the trunk side behind him, the light headache screaming back to life. He curled in on himself a little, trying to breathe through the pain, pushing away the sob caught in his throat. Everything hurt so badly, he almost wanted to just pass out. No, I need to stay awake, Lisa and Cindy are waiting! He was so tired, but forced his eyes open again to the darkness of the trunk. You can get out with wire or metal. I can stab through or unlock the trunk. I need to...get out...

  
  


“Fuck, you...” Arkin spat, searching the edges again and again, finding loose thread, odd little crumbs of things, even finding a stiff patch in one corner that he knew had to be blood. No loose metal at all. No open areas. The trunk was sturdy, impossible to even think about pulling apart. His fingers were slick with sweat or blood at this point, and his forearm ached awfully. 

  
  


His arms dropped, too weak to keep up the search, and he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t broken into the house. Who would this man have taken? From the state of Michael, he was pretty sure this Fucker was only interested in torturing the Chase patriarch, the damage done had been irreparable. Victoria, maybe? He hadn’t actually wanted to kill her until she screamed. He had tried to get her out. He wasn’t really sure if he’d been interested in Jill, but Hannah...

  
  


Fucking sicko. He was after the little girl. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a little relieved, though. He hadn’t gotten her...He had at least...saved her...

  
  


Arkin’s hands had stilled, falling limp. His eyes were closed, and his breath he evened ever so slightly, a hitch every few moments stuttering in his lungs. He had finally passed out, too weak to stay awake, too injured to continue his escape attempt. And as he finally fell silent, no longer struggling and screaming in the trunk, the man sitting above him tilted his head, listening. Silence. Through his mask, the man grinned wide, his eyes gleaming.

FINALLY ASLEEP.

  
  
  


…..

  
  
  


The scraping of the trunk should have woken Arkin up. The Collector knew it was a possibility, but he didn’t really care one way or another. If Arkin was still asleep, it just meant he would suffer less. If he was awake, well...he better behave, or he wouldn’t stay awake for long. The Collector continued to drag the trunk, and he could help a shiver crawling up his spine at the thought of the Trespasser, sprawled beneath him, struggling and squirming, snarling, begging when the Collector sank his teeth into his skin-

  
  
  


He paused for a minute, huffing a few times, rubbing a hand against the half-hard erection forming in his pants. God, this man would be delicious! He licked his lips, adjusting the edge of his pants. Soon, he thought to himself, soon. First, he would train this little bitch to cry, to LISTEN. Then, he would taste him. And if he didn’t learn, well, he would punish the little bitch. Oh, he couldn’t wait, he was gonna fuck him up good-

  
  


He reached down again, the trunk continuing to scrape against the ground as he pulled it along. He was getting too excited, he had a ways to go before any of that. For now, he could enjoy the struggle, the fight, the whimpers and defiant glares and the force of it all. It took a few minutes in the semi-empty building, but he got to the room with minimal difficulty, and no traps set off. Perfect. He would need to add extra traps now, Arkin would not be the last of his “collection”. He threw the door open, flipping on the lights, revealing wall after wall of odd jars, each holding an organ or animal suspended in formaldehyde. The room was relatively clean, all the counters and the floor almost glimmering. The only exception was a grimy table in the center of the room, the legs bolted to the ground.

Seeing the table, the Collector’s nose wrinkled, and some spark of irritation lessened his excitement. He couldn’t put his little trespasser on THIS! Why had he even though to leave it like this? This could get him caught! He released the trunk, angrily grabbing antibacterial wipes from a nearby cabinet. He kept the floor and the counters and the ceiling so nice and clean, he kept the jars clean, he had PLENTY of supplies, why had he gotten so LAZY?! He had his masterpiece, his white whale! Why had he not thought about the possibility! He scrubbed the grimy metal table furiously, sneering angrily. Dried blood was such a hassle to clean, he needed to clean it immediately next time!

Then, as his rage built and the table became more and more visible, he heard a small sound. It was the faintest of groans, a tiny creak. He stopped, and his eyes locked on the trunk, and his rage swirled, mixing with excitement and desperation. It’s YOUR fault! I don’t care about all this bullshit, I’ll slap you down on this table now, and we’ll SEE which of us is laughing after I break you!

  
  
  


…..

  
  
  


Arkin didn’t remember when he passed out, but he clearly remembered waking up. He had been blinded by bright white lights, and as he turned his head, he felt the harsh grip of a hand around his shoulder, mercilessly dragging him up. Before he could even register being awake, he was kicking out, swinging out a groggy arm to protect his face, turning away. “Wha-“ he slurred our almost drunkenly, letting out a high-pitched yelp as what he was sure was a belt slapped him across the arm, catching part of his cheek in the blow.

  
  


Arkin curled around himself, brain foggy. What was going on? Everything ached, and he was SO TIRED. “Sssss-“ he started, lifting his other arm as well, gasping as his forearms were grabbed, shrieking at the pain flowing through his left arm.

“GET OFF ME! FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE!” He was trying to kick out, pull away, find his footing on the ground, but it was so hard to open his eyes, and he was catching blurry little moments in between blinks. A room full of jars. A man in a mask, pulling him out of something red. A table with blood. The masked man in his face. The masked man. The last few hours came rushing back, and so did the full strength of his pain. He let out a scream of rage, fear coursing through his stomach and chest at a mile a minute, finally catching his footing for a moment, and broke free with one arm, pulling back for a punch-

  
  


SLAP!

  
  


Arkin stumbled and twisted to the side as the belt, he was now certain, slashed across his chest, causing white hot agony to shoot through him across his belly. “Whhaa...” he tried again, nearly doubling over at a second strike across the stomach. He was sure he would fall any moment, catching himself on the table just as his legs gave out, the Collector slamming his shoulder back with his free hand, still holding his other forearm.

  
  


Arkin’s vision had gone spotty and dark, and he was trying to blink it away, trying to force air in and out of his lungs naturally. He scrambled back, feet scuttling, too weak to hold his weight, and the Collector slammed him down, the belt vanishing again. Where did it keep going? The Collector’s other hand grabbed his free arm around the bicep, forcing him back onto the table, his head hitting the metal. Arkin’s vision flashed for a moment, and he went still, eyes squeezed closed in pain. Then, the heavy pressure of something on his hips had him forcing his eyes open, staring into the other man’s mask. “GET OFF ME!” Arkin shouted, a new wave of terror having him bucking under the other man, scuttling around, trying to elbow the man grasping at him. 

  
  


He cried out as his right hand was forced under the Collector’s knee, trying to punch out with his free hand. The man grabs his hand mid-punch, pressing it under his other knee, holding his chest down with one hand as Arkin kicks his legs, shouting curses and screaming for help. Then, he froze, the only sound gasps of air escaping his mouth. In the brightness of the room, the masked man had reached behind him, pulling out a gleaming knife at least six inches long. Arkin’s eyes followed the blade, glancing between it and the other man. The Collector was staring at him, the intensity laser-sharp, and he brings the knife closer and closer to the battered man’s throat. Arkin set his jaw, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to move his head further away as the edge of the blade touched the skin on his throat, biting in a bit. The masked man watched, almost intrigued, a thin bead of blood welling up as his skin parted, the clammy skin growing red as some of the blood smeared.

  
  


Arkin gasped through his nose, chest rising and falling sporadically, eyes searching the room, the ceiling, anything.  _ I need to get out, need to escape, can’t die, won’t die, I DON’T WANNA DIE- _

  
  


The knife moved away from his neck and he relaxed for a moment, stiffening harder as he watched the knife trail down toward his chest. The masked man fisted his shirt, dragging the dirty fabric up and away from his skin, revealing his collarbone and small scrapes on his lower neck and upper shoulders. “Man, don’t-“

“Shhhhh,” the Collector hushed his protests, bringing the knife to the edge of his shirt, piercing the fabric and slitting down it, cutting away the dirty material to around his naval. Arkin turned away, eyes closed, ready for the blow of the knife across his torso. It never came.

  
  


He opened his eyes, locking them with the masked man’s, watching as the knife hovered about a foot above him. Then, the Collector slowly moved the knife away, sliding it behind him, out of view. Perfect silence. Arkin watched as the gleaming metal vanished, and his eyes darted back to the Collector’s.  _ What does this mean?  _ The man was looming over him, his eyes almost hungry.  _ Is he gonna fucking eat me? _

  
  


As they stared at each other, Arkin shifted one foot, and the sole of his shoe found the edge of the table.  _ I’m not dying here, you motherfucker. I’ll kill you for this.  _ Then, slowly, the Collector brought his hand back, empty, slowly moving toward Arkin’s shirt. Just a little closer, and he could strike out. Just a little closer. Then, just as the hand made it above the slit, it stopped, hovering there, the man locking eyes with him.  _ HE KNOWS. _

  
  


Arkin kicked out, causing the masked man to lose his balance, reaching forward to catch himself on the table’s edge. Then, he pulled his hands free, pushing the man off him in a swift strike to the stomach, the masked man reaching out and grabbing his arm. The two fell to the floor in a ball of limbs, Arkin getting a hand free and punching the man across the face, scrambling back toward the door, half on his stomach as he tried to get his feet under him. He was so close, almost there, just another two steps-

  
  


He slipped and fell on his chest, just barely catching himself from a crushing blow to his nose. Then, just as he caught himself, he was been dragged backwards, and he reached out for something, anything, trying to dig his nails into the hard linoleum, succeeding only in breaking one of his nails, cracking down the nail bed and leaving a trail of blood along the floor. “AHHHHHH,” Arkin screamed, coughing hard as the man climbed on his back.  _ SOMEBODY, ANYBODY- _

  
  


A punch to the back left him breathless, and he flopped, shivering, eyes losing focus. A second punch. His back was numb now, punctuated by the agony of breathing. “No-“

Another punch. White hot fire along his back. “P...lease…” he whimpered. His vision went black, and he felt cold.  _ Am I dying? I’m sorry, Cindy, Lisa. Daddy’s not coming back… _

  
  


He was unconscious before the last punch landed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back in the next decade! Just got back home, and wanted to get a little short chapter out to you. I firmly believe we don’t talk about the excessive amount of injuries sustained in action movies, so hope people like this. Happy New Years, and enjoy!

The Collector was panting, heart racing with excitement.  Not fighting anymore? That’s right, you can’t fight me. He flipped The trespasser over, tearing the shirt open, revealing deep, dark bruises along his torso, a few scrapes, and the long, ragged cut across his stomach, blood sluggishly dripping out. Then, his eyes travelled to The other man’s hands. If he wasn’t careful, his trespasser would wake up and try to get away again. He wouldn’t have that, not in this life. So, he pulled a length of ragged rope from his belt, feeling the long, stiff leather strap brush his hand. He smirked. He liked the way it sounded when it hit his little trespasser’s skin.

He took the limp man’s wrists, crossing them one over the other, moving him to one of the table legs, wrapping the rope around it systematically, then swiftly knotting it around his forearms and damaged hands. Then, he directed his eyes and hands back down. Across his chest, enjoying the slow movement. He could have him heaving in seconds, and the very thought had him scrambling lower, to the hem of his surprisingly intact jeans. He was careful with the button, delicately unzipping the fly, pulling the waistband down. His Trespasser’s briefs were riding low on his hips, showing off the edge of his hips and his pale brown wisps trailing beneath his naval. The Collector hummed pleasantly, pausing to suck and bite at his hip. The Trespasser didn’t move.

The Collector pulled the injured man’s pants off, one leg at a time, showing off more smooth muscles in his thighs and calves, and he knew he wanted to see them flex against him. This little bitch had the gal to call him a faggot? Well, he would regret saying anything. He would regret pissing off someone as powerful as the Collector. He moved to the man’s muddy socks, tossing them to the side, finally settling on the damp briefs. His whole outfit had been wet or muddy, and they were no exception, and he licked his lips. They were clinging to His trespasser sinfully, not that the man would know, and when he pushed his thighs apart, he could clearly tell the man would be a good time, half-hard in the chill of the room.

Perfect, little bitch,  he thought, pressing their groins together, getting harder as he rubbed against the other man. Still no response. Nothing. Now, he was a bit irritated. He slapped the trespasser’s thigh, trying to jostle him awake. He wanted to see the little bitch’s face when he saw the Collector over him, ready to force his way in. No movement. Another slap on the thigh. Just limp flesh. Irritation had given way to calculated thoughts;  he hasn’t even flinched in pain. I doubt he would still be unconscious after so much movement and touching, but he clearly isn’t awake. He searched for his pulse, finding it at his neck. What he found had him scrambling to untie the man, lifting him onto the table.

His pulse was rapid, jumping as if he were still awake, fighting him. However, the pulse would give every now and then, pausing for a few moment before continuing, and it was weak, almost impossible to feel. He had dealt with this before, on one of his first kills. He had bled a woman too much, and hadn’t taken proper precautions. She had died not long after, bleeding out in her trunk. He had been more careful since then, always patching up the wounds before he went for any new cuts. But he had completely forgotten with his trespasser, had been so focused on forcing him down, he had almost let him...

He now took notice of the blood smears all along the once pristine floor, splatters on some of the jars and cabinets. It was such a dark, prominent colour, he couldn’t quite believe he had missed it. He flipped his trespasser onto his stomach, pulling the tattered remains of his shirt apart, revealing the many tears along his back, all bleeding freely. Shit. SHITSHITSHIT-!

He was moving to a cabinet immediately, pulling out all forms of gauze and antiseptic wipes, needles and bandaids and thick thread finding its way onto the counters, splayed across them haphazardly. Any other time, and he would have gotten angry at the disorganised items, but he didn’t have time for that now. He took one of the wipes to the wounds across his back and it was dirty and useless in seconds. He kept wiping and removing the blood and grime, slowly but surely cleaning the wounds, pressing pads against them.

He patted the wounds down, drying the destroyed flesh, and lifted him slightly, revealing his sliced stomach. He cleaned that cut, as well, patting it dry. Then, he grabbed a roll of gauze and propped the man up, shoulder to chest, beginning the process of covering so many wounds. It took nearly three whole rolls to properly cover and support the thick layers of gauze pads he had pressed to the tears to stanch the bleeding. With the worst wounds done, he grabbed a washcloth and wet it in soapy water. He needed to be gentle, or else he could risk reopening the wounds. Still, he needed to move his trespasser soon; it was getting to a point where The man could wake up, and he needed to keep him still; he wasn’t going to let him die like this.

He began the process of cleaning and assessing the damage done to the injured man’s hands, noting every bruise and scrape and cut, and especially looking into the torn wounds from the hooks he had used to torment his trespasser. These wounds would need stitches, as would his back and stomach, but he wanted to stem the bleeding on that now. So, he strung one of the needles with the wire-like thread, grabbed the trespasser’s arm, and began the sliding the needle through the pale, chilly skin. A small bead of blood welled up on the surface, but that was about all of that. He pulled the needle through the other side, tying the thread into a knot after, and restarting. Each time, he wondered if his trespasser felt the needle, if it hurt him.

The thought made him a bit excited.

He spent what felt like hours stitching up his hands, two exceptionally long cuts on either side of his right hand taking most of his effort. Then, he removed what was left of the trespasser’s shirt, revealing a long row of deep, blunt scars along his forearm. He examined them, counting and tracing them for a few seconds. They were relatively fresh, and the wounds were ragged, clearly not made by a knife of sharp object. This clearly had to be self-inflicted, but why? What was his trespasser planning? He wiped them down, then wrapped up his arm tightly. Once his trespasser woke up, he would find out what this was all about. For now, he needed to make sure he kept him alive. Once he was awake and fighting, the Collector would ask. He would find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this didn’t let you down, but I’m already excited for the next chapter. Can’t wait for Arkin to wake up! The Collector isn’t nice exactly, but he takes care of things he is fascinated with, so let’s see how that goes.;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I got another one out quick! I really liked the beginning of this chapter, but I have to say, I’m developing big story bits, and I want to start implementing them soon! Hope you like it, enjoy!

It was mid-morning by the time the Collector has finished patching up the trespasser. He had left him in just his boxers, but he placed him in a bed rather than the trunk. He needed to monitor him for the next few days, and he couldn’t risk him freezing. He had strapped his wrists and ankles down, throwing a thick blanket over the other man, planning to watch the news for a quick update on his latest job before he slept for a few hours. The room he entered was nearly pitch black, but he knew it was safe; he had made sure to leave this room trap-free.

He leaned back into a chair, turning the television on with a remote on one of the arms. Then, he watched as the news flashed the crisped remains of the house, firefighters still on-scene. He could hear that speculation of a murderous arsonist was the believed source, but that very little was known. There was a direct interview with the police chief, saying a man had gone missing from the scene and was in need of medical attention. Then, his face flashed on the screen, as did a name. Arkin O’Brien. He almost wanted to say the name, taste it, but not here, not now. He would do it later, another day. Maybe while shoving that little bitch down.

The Collector growled at the thought, angrily spreading his thighs apart to relieve the discomfort of his dick rubbing against his pants. He had been planning on fucking that little bitch, but now he had to put that on hold for a few days or risk worse injuries. So, with thinly veiled excitement and impatience, he took off his gloves, sliding his hands down to his pants and undoing the clasp. He rubbed himself through his underwear for a few moments, and he felt a shiver go up his spine thinking about how he would put the trespasser(  _Arkin_ ,  his brain whispered, the name almost slipping past his lips) in his place.

_ Arkin would be strapped to a table, his legs left free, and he would be shouting for help, screaming, throwing his shoulders from side to side, trying to get away. He would try to kick out when the Collector got close, but he would easily subdue the other man, forcing his way between his legs and feeling up his thighs. Then, the fun would really begin. _

The Collector quickly shoved his hand down into his briefs, fondling himself and licking his lips.  _Arkin’s legs would be bent around him, spread open invitingly even as he shouted for him to stop, to get the fuck off him. He would cut Arkin’s underwear off of him, leaving him naked and vulnerable. Then, he would pull his dick out, and rub in along Arkin’s_.  He groaned, stroking himself from tip to root, eyes closed. More. He needed more.  _ Arkin would start whimpering, tossing his head side to side, stiffening and hardening even as he shouted that the Collector was a faggot. And he would yelp when the Collector took his ass in his hands, pulling it apart, revealing his hole. _

_ He wouldn’t prepare him. At least, he wouldn’t prepare him, much. He would press his fingers inside the smaller man, forcing him open, leaving him screaming for him to stop. Oh, but when he hit that spot inside, Arkin would start moaning. He’d deny it, look away, shout insults at him, but Arkin would be craving the feeling again and again, and the he would learn to do anything for it.  _ The Collector’s stroked had picked up a bit of speed, and he was a bit surprised; it had been years since anyone had turned him on this much. God, he couldn’t wait to actually fuck the little bitch.

_ The Collector would pull his fingers out, spitting into his hand and spreading it on his dick. It would be rough, but he wanted it that way, craved the discomfort he would see on Arkin’s face. He would shove in, claiming the man beneath him completely, putting him in his rightful place, teaching him exactly who he was dealing with. That’s right, try and call me faggot again. Do it.  DO IT. He would slam in and out of the other man, making him scream and beg, writhing in pain and pleasure, begging him to be more gentle. He might let up, but if he did, he wouldn’t let Arkin come. When he finally let it out inside Arkin, he would pull out and force the man to clean him up with his mouth. The thought of that proud, clever man, tears in his eyes and dick in his mouth, begging him to come, thoroughly debauched- _

The Collector came into his hand, but he wasn’t satisfied. The image was beautiful, the concept stimulating, but it wasn’t the real deal. He would never be able to truly pinpoint what Arkin would do, much to his irritation, and he wanted to see how Arkin really reacted to being strapped down and fucked.  Soon, he thought, slowly relaxing in the euphoria of orgasm.  Soon, he won’t have a choice.

.....

Arkin woke up feeling fuzzy. He was dizzy, and his head hurt immensely, along with him being completely unable to move his body. At first, he had thought it was exhaustion, but then he noticed the tight press of leather around his wrists and ankles. He tried to shift his leg at all, muscles protesting the whole time, but he found the restraints to be firm and unyielding. He turned his head, searching with his eyes for anything. The room was dark, and he could only just make out shadows. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew it was warm. He groaned, closing his eyes. Where was he?

He wanted to turn onto his side, his back aching ever so slightly, but he couldn’t. As he wondered about getting free, he drifted back into a restless unconsciousness. Hours had passed when he next woke, the loud sound of a door opening rousing the injured man. “Some...one...” he tried to speak, but his throat was so dry. He let out a few rough gasps, trying to quell the coughs crawling up his throat. Then, the dark silhouette of a person, probably a man, loomed over him, and fingers, naked and warm, prodded at his face.

His head was tilted slightly, and the edge of a cup found his lips, the clear taste of water sweet on his lips. He drank quickly, but whoever was assisting him pulled the cup away when he tried to up turn the entire cup into his mouth. He gasped a few time, chest rising heavily, and his stomach was flipping painfully. It was as if the water had been filled with glass, and ignited the entirety of his body in sharp, cutting pain. “F-uck,” he whimpered, a sob following the word. Everything HURT!

The cup gently touched his lips again, and he drank slowly, each swallow now causing a bit of pain. Before the cup was empty, he turned his head away, letting out another weak sob. “Hurts,” he slurred out, and he was surprised to find himself shivering. The figure pulled away, and he knew he must be delirious because he thought the man was wearing a mask and had glowing eyes. This had to be something he was seeing, right? He felt like he recognised the mask...

He was staring at the man when his eyes turned back to him, the glowing orbs disappearing into darkness. The man’s had grabbed his face, firm but not painful, and he continued to stare, finding himself transfixed. The faint light behind the man just barely outlined him, but Arkin was sure this was a man. Why was he wearing a mask? Why did he see a mask? The faint tug of a memory made him think of a dark house and a little girl with blonde hair, but his head was far too muddled. The man was gentle, running a hand through his hair before placing a warm blanket on him. He was so drowsy now, and the pain was slowly calming back to soft aches. He couldn’t keep his eyes open for much longer...

.....

Arkin was unconscious again, pale and feeble. The Collector found it hypnotic to watch his eyes flutter and move. Arkin’s skin was cold, still not able to properly circulate warmth, but he had finally woken up. He didn’t want to admit it, but the Collector had been worried. It had been nearly two days, and the man had not so much as moved. He had planned to wait to stitch him up for when he woke up, but Arkin had been so unresponsive...

Well, he had found himself stitching up the man’s back and stomach when he hadn’t woken up for 10 hours. By the time the second day had hit, the Collector had begun to feel tense and uneasy. What if Arkin never woke up? What if Arkin passed away on his sleep, and he was lost to The Collector? What if he escaped through death? What if he **LEFT HIM?** The thoughts had become more and more intense. But then, after days of building restlessness, the man’s eyes had fluttered open, and he had murmured something out, trying to move his limbs. The relief, the wave of excitement at seeing him moving and alive, it was almost overwhelming. Seeing was not enough. He had touched his face, wanting to feel it to make sure it wasn’t some illusion. He had dealt with illusions for enough of his life to want to check, just to be sure.

The touch of his fingers to Arkin’s unruly scruff had the man leaning into his hand, looking up at him with tired eyes. He was awake. He was really awake! He quickly grabbed a cup from a nearby side table, carefully cradling the man’s head and helping him drink. For once, he did not delight in the pain evident in Arkin’s face after drinking too fast. He didn’t take any pleasure in him sobbing and saying it hurt. He didn’t enjoy it when Arkin just laid there. It was infuriating. This man, this  trespasser , had been anything but weak, and to see the strong capable man like this? He never wanted to see such a priceless piece of his collection so damaged ever again. So, he laid him back down, gave him an extra blanket, and watched him fall back asleep.

He would make him regret worrying him after he recovered. He would ask him about the scars after, too. He would get out of this depressive funk he had been in the entire time he had been waiting for Arkin to wake up. But for now, in the quiet of his van, he sagged a bit, leaning back. He would do everything tomorrow. He would deal with it tomorrow. 

Tomorrow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone liked the Collector’s little fantasy session, and I hope everyone loves soft Collector as much as me. He’s so gentle with spiders, I just image he’s like that with things he likes.;) let me know how you all feel about the chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve been churning through the chapters, I guess I’ve just been excited! I already have an idea for a sequel inclusive of the Saw series, but I won’t say too much. Finally, some more awake Arkin! Hope you like this.:)

When Arkin woke up next, the room was very softly lit, though he had no clue when someone had turned on a light. He searched the room, lifting his head carefully, and let his eyes roam the room. What he saw made his heart freeze, then beat painfully in terror. A petite girl with long blonde hair was sitting still, and the masked man sat in front of her, applying something to her face. She shook for a moment, and he grabbed her neck, holding her in place. “Stop!” Arkin shouted, chest aching, and the masked man’s head whipped toward him, eyes bright and intense as they locked on him. 

He stood, releasing the girl, and he approached the restrained man, laying a hand on his cheek. A hand he shied away from, brows knit in confusion. “Please. Just let her go. Please, she’s just a little girl. Don’t hurt her,” he said breathlessly, desperate. 

He couldn’t believe the man had caught Hannah. He had to get her out. She was just a kid and she had  just  lost her whole family, she didn’t need to deal with all of this! “Please. Please,” he murmured, closing his eyes as the Collector’s hand cupped the left side of his jaw, fingers prodding the bruise there.

He thought back to his fuzzy memories of the last time he was awake. What had happened? How could he have forgotten the awful things this man did? He scowled deeply, breathing quickly. The hand tilted his head, and the moist lips of the man brushed his ear, making him jump. “Shhhh,” the Collectors almost seemed to hiss out, barely making any sound at all, and the hot air had him flinching.

Then, the lips and hand slowly retracted, and he opened his eyes, the man moving back toward the girl. Arkin wanted to shout again, but the man caught his eye, and the glare was terrifying. He drew a knife, and it was clearly a threat. Arkin shook his head quickly, mouthing the word ‘no’ as he glanced between him and the girl. The Collector stepped back a few times, slowly lowering to his knees in front of her. “Don’t hurt her,” Arkin whispered, and the the masked man’s eyes scrunched a bit, studying him. Then, the man put the knife away, reaching down and lifting...a brush?

The Collector moved his eyes to the girl, and he carefully brushed her cheek, intent on his work. Then, he switched to a small palette, not that Arkin knew what it was for, and moved a small eyes shadow applicator to the girl’s face. Make-up. He was putting make-up on her. It was surprising how calm he became while repetitively applying the colourful powers and thick foundation, the terrifying, psychotic energy having all but disappeared. Arkin watched the man, not as urgently afraid, but still too high-strung to take his eyes off the two. He watched, and found himself relaxing, as well. In spite of the man being crazy and currently forcing a girl to stay still as he did her make-up, Arkin found himself completely sure of his safety. The man would not hurt him or the girl in this moment. It was possible to keep himself and Hannah safe here.

Then, she moved. 

She let out a soft cough, and the masked man stopped, hand shaking. He was boring into her with his eyes, and he roughly grabbed her throat again, the sounds of her gagging and gurgling had Arkin twisting and tugging at his restraints, calling out, “Let her go! Don’t hurt her, leave her alone, dammit! Hurt me instead! Do you fucking hear me? Hurt me, not her!”

The shout was weak. The Collector wouldn’t be interested in what he had to say if he was angry. He wouldn’t listen to anything. Arkin was ready to start attacking the man’s sexuality again, ready to shout slurs at him if that would save her, but was shocked to see The Collector turning to him, staring him down, releasing Hannah. She fell to the side, coughing and curling into a ball, touching her neck and cowering. Arkin was gasping, but he stilled, preparing himself for pain. He would deal with the consequences. He could live with them if it meant helping Hannah. “Do whatever you want to me, but leave her alone. Please. She’s just a kid.”

The man stood, slowly stalking closer, and he reached out a hand, trailing it up Arkin’s leg and chest, stopping over his left hand pectoral. The Collector was searching his face, and seemed to find what he wanted. He moved his hand to Arkin’s neck, squeezing tightly, the air almost getting completely cut off. Arkin shuddered, trying to withhold a cough, but he couldn’t avoid it. He coughed and coughed, eyes closing and opening with the effort of trying to stay calm. His head was hurting a bit, and his back and stomach ached from the coughing. He caught the man’s eyes, and found himself feeling sick. The Collector was staring at him as if in a trance, licking his lips repeatedly. Then, his other hand came up and made its way around Arkin’s throat, and air was completely cut off. Arkin’s coughs had become weak sounds of gasps trying to draw in air, only succeeding in forcing his mouth open like a fish.

His headache dissolved into fuzziness, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Just when he thought he would black out, the hands let up, and small amounts of air filled his lungs. He coughed and wheezed, strings of saliva dripping onto the bed he was strapped to, and he glanced back at the Collector. Was it over? The Collector was smiling. His hands had only just released his airway, snuggly pressing against the skin of his neck, and he didn’t seem too interested in killing him. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to interested in stopping either. He tried to take one last gasping breath only for the hands to tighten just that little bit more.

His throat hurt. His head was splitting from the pressure of trapped air, unable to breath in or out. His chest ached along with the rest of him, and he was getting dizzy. Everything was trying to go dark, and he was trying to blink away the black spots in his vision. He was so TIRED. At least he had helped Hannah. At least she would be okay. Then, the hands let go again, and he went into a coughing fit, turning his head. His diaphragm was tense and stuttering, working hard to force air into his lungs, and his stomach rolled. He wanted to vomit. He thought he might. The coughs subsided just in time, and Arkin realized the hands were gone. He killed his head around, and saw the man with his back to him several feet away. He seemed to be shaking. But why?

Arkin closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth slowly, working his jaw to try and ease some soreness in his neck. He was surprised he was still awake. Then, an awful pain in his stomach had him stiffening, face twitching as he rode out the feeling. He recognized the pain, had felt it hundreds of times before, but couldn’t grasp the level it had reached. His body was hungry, starving if his reaction was anything to go by. He groaned, slumping as the sensation finally passed. Why hit now? Why not earlier? Arkin just wanted to curl around his stomach and stay that way. Too much pain. Too much torture. Too many times he had to give up for other people. Why? Why didn’t he just find a better way to get money sooner?

He let out a sob, quiet, weak, defeated, and he hated himself for that little sound. He should have kept it in, at least waited for the man to leave. This sick bastard was probably getting off on it, having fun choking him. God, would he have done this to Hannah? She was nine! How could anyone hurt a kid? He swallowed down the rest of the sobs trying to form, holding onto his anger. He would kill this fucking bastard, he would get him and Hannah out of here. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten them out. This time, he would see this fucker dead. He moved his eyes, still watery, to the Collector, glaring, trying to ignore the incoming hunger pains. He wouldn’t give up that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we’re gonna see what’s going on with the Collector! Already working on it. Hopefully soon, I’ll reach a more stable upload schedule, rather than sporadically uploading, and get some longer chapters up. Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something new for you! Gotta continue from where we last were, now on the Collector’s side. Hope you enjoy!!

He had gone too far. The Collector was shaking, shuddering, trying to reign in the sadist pleasure screaming at him to keep going, to just choke the life out of him. It was perfect, watching this little  bitch  beg him to hurt him, watching him tug and fight even while he couldn’t breathe. More than anything, watching him cough and gag and stare up at him with such tired, defiant eyes made him just want MORE, but Arkin was so weak as it was, he would die if he didn’t take better care of him. He was just calming down when he heard it; it sounded almost like a hiccup, but slightly different, a bit wet. He turned, seeing Arkin, eyes closed, face curled in anger and pain. Then, he realised what the sound was.

It was a sob. Arkin had FUCKING SOBBED.

The very thought had him wanting to tackle the man, cut and hit him until he made the sound again. He reeled that thought back in quickly. He would find other ways to get him to cry, and he would do it later. A few days didn’t mean he was fine. He wasn’t dying now, and that was it. Once he was a bit less injured, he would make him do all sorts of things. Maybe he would cover a room in wire and leave him in the centre. Maybe, he would lock him in a room and leave layers of doors around that he had to unlock. He could make the door lead to a room where he would be waiting, and he could surprise him, forcing him to beg for mercy when he caught him escaping...

He pushed his thought aside as Arkin opened his eyes, the fire there nearly making him smile. There was that pride that he had been searching for. The Collector couldn’t wait to see how many times he could break that pride. How many times would Arkin bounce back? Could he fight him forever? The thought was stimulating, for sure. The Collector touched his throat, making the man tense a bit, but he didn’t stop. Small areas were red and splotchy, but it would take at least a few hours to see what actually ruined and what didn’t. For now, he would feed Arkin, and get him back to sleep. He also needed to get him to a restroom, and that would need to be done soon.

He released Arkin’s neck, turning back to Abby. She was still curled up, and he felt a hint of irritation. She had been so still, she had been doing so well! Then, she had to let that little cough out, just before he finished everything up! The submission, the blind trust she had, not moving even slightly, calmed him a bit, and he felt that irritation ebb. She was a good girl, really, she was just a scared little thing. That was fine. She was perfect like that. He slowly approached her, and she didn’t even flinch; she knew she had made a mistake, and was willing to deal with the consequences. He leaned down over her, brushing some of her hair straight and petting her head a few times. Then, he straightened, heading to her trunk, placed at the foot of Arkin’s bed. He didn’t need the two of them being able to look at each other.

He opened the trunk, and she stayed still for a moment, head down, before slowly crawling over, trying to stay as small as possible. She crawled in, curling up on herself, carefully not looking at Arkin. The Collector smirked. She was a good girl, and her obedience may have just caught Arkin in a difficult place. He thought she was the little girl from his last job; Hannah Chase. He could use that. It seemed like Arkin had been attached to her for some reason. Had that been why he was at the house that night? Was he... interested  in the little girl? He would need to properly look through his clothes. He had been neglecting destroying them in favour of spending as much time as he could watching over the man, but they may hold some secret answer. If not, the man could tell him; he would make sure to find out.

He locked Abby in, the clicks loud and worrying in the quiet of the room, and he turned his attention back to Arkin. The blanket had slipped down his chest as he had been strangling him, showing some of the scabbed over cuts along his shoulders and collarbone. The skin there was still rather pale, some of the veins visible, making him look half-dead. If he wanted Arkin to fully recover, he needed to get some food and water into him. Then, he needed to check his wounds. He walked around the bed, pulling the blanket up to Arkin’s chin, the restrained man flinching away and glaring at him. He ignored it for now. He would play with him another time; right now, he needed to prepare some food.

The concept was annoying; cooking for one of these insects he had collected? Never before had he even thought of that, not for anyone in his collection. Well, besides Abby, but she was different. He exited the room, locking a string of different padlocks on the outside, securing it. Couldn’t have him escaping now. He turned on a heel, and headed for his van. He could grab one of the soup cans and heat that up for now, but he would bring some food tomorrow when he returned. Abby would need some, too. Maybe soon, he could feed them together. He couldn’t wait to see how all this went.

.....

Arkin listened to the steps of the masked man fade away staying quiet until he couldn’t hear them anymore. Then, he called out, “Hannah? Hannah, can you hear me?”

Slience. She said nothing, and he had a moment of horror. Could the Collector have done what he did to her mother? Would he stitch a little girl’s mouth shut? But he had heard her coughing freely, surely he wouldn’t have done that...

“Hannah, please, just let me know you’re okay. Please. You can cough, knock on something, say something if you can. I’m here. It’s Arkin. I’ll get us out, just hang tight.”

Hesitantly, almost inaudible, came a soft knock. It wasn’t crisp, but soft, as if against a firm cloth, or-

Or the inside of a trunk.

That was it, wasn’t it? He hadn’t just strapped her to the foot of the bed, he had locked her into a trunk! Then why wasn’t she talking? Was she gagged? Or was she scared? He hoped she hadn’t lost her voice. “I hear you, I hear you,” he said, tugging at the straps around his wrists. They were sturdy and thick, and the edges were a little uncomfortable, but his skin hadn’t chafed yet. He tried to twist his arms, but they would only go about a quarter of the way before twisting his skin. 

He tried the same experiment with his ankles, coming to a similar result. He tried to pull on them heavily, but he couldn’t even begin to make them budge. Fuck. He had to think of a way out, he had to get out of here! Then, to his surprise, he heard something snap, followed by strange whirling. He heard feet running, a man breathing heavily, and the sick, fleshy splat of something. The thud of something heavy falling to the ground had him feeling sick. It was a person. Someone had just gotten badly hurt, probably killed. He took a few deep, shaky breaths, closing his eyes. He needed to focus, he needed to get himself together. 

He couldn’t get out of these on his own, and even if he could, he was in another boobytrapped hellhole, one he didn’t know the layout of from fixing up. More than that, he wouldn’t be able to get Hannah out safely as well. He needed to get the Collector’s guard down, get him to relax, then he would break him and Hannah out, and he would kill this fucker. He started to drift to sleep again, his body relaxing, trying to formulate a plan. He couldn’t just get friendly, though, he needed to start in sections. He couldn’t let that monster hurt Hannah, he had to be strong, even if everything in him was screaming  no, don’t let him anywhere near him,  he would live with it.

He could do this, he could do this.

.....

The Collector came back roughly half-an-hour later, a large container in his arms, finding the eviscerated remains of one of his collection just feet away from the hidden wall of doors he had set up for his most special pieces. The man was skinny and dirty, but that was most of the people in his collection; only special pieces deserved his attention so intently. He paused, transferring the container to one arm and leaning down to look over the mess, smirking. The man would have been considered handsome at one point, but the slashes all over his face now left him looking grotesque. His eyes traveled down the torn and bloodless skin, to his torso. A large knife had been triggered, and it had caught him from the top of his left shoulder down almost to his right hand hip bone. The wound was still relatively fresh, but the blood had begun to coagulate, and the Collector studied the would. The skin almost seemed to jiggle slightly as he moved one of his gloved hands to the cut, flapping like ripped cloth, pulling away slightly from the muscle below it.

The wound was anything but clean: it was deep and jagged, the knife having been too blunt to properly slice through. He could see the flesh pulling away from his ribs, the stark pale forms contrasting with the almost red meat of his body. Down lower, it had disembowelled him, his intestines pooling around him like a large worm, limp and putrid-smelling. He pushed the wound wider, finding the stomach cavity still most intact, and he smiled wider. He could feed his dogs today. He kicked the body to the side, not caring as it triggered another trap and a secondary knife nearly bisected the corpse, getting caught about halfway through.

He turned to the many doors, unlocking the first one to the right, then the second, then the middle inside, opening to the room. It was still dimly lit, and Arkin was just where he had left him; he was laying across the bed, blanket up to his neck. He had his eyes closed, and his face was relaxed. He had fallen back asleep. The Collector smile softened from the rigid, murderous glee of moments before, and he found himself relaxing as well. It was a first step to taming the wild beast that was Arkin; if he would fall asleep so soon after being choked, unsure of what the Collector had in store for him, it meant he was slowly letting himself trust his captor. It could also mean he was too exhausted to stay awake for so long without the threat in front of him, but he could hope.

He decided to go to Abby first; she was very obedient, and he didn’t want to fight Arkin just yet. He carefully unlatched the trunk, quietly so as not to wake the man. He slowly opened the lid of the trunk, and Abby blinked a few times, eyes scrunched. He motioned for her to sit up, and she did, calmly looking up at him. It was sweet, almost innocent, and he softly pet her head, a streak of sticky blood remaining in the pale strands. Then, he sat in front of her, placing the container he held on the ground. She didn’t glance down, just continued to look at him. Such a good girl! He took off the bloody glove, carefully wrapping it around itself and placing it in his pocket. It would be going in the fire the first moment he got.

Then, he opened the container, revealing chicken noodle soup, pulling out a spoon from his other pocket. As he gently fed Abby, he wondered about Arkin; how would he act while being fed? Would he listen, or would he fight? And which one was the Collector hoping for?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m really excited for this chapter and the next one.:) Hope you guys like it, cuz things are about to go down!

Arkin awoke to a gentle touch on his face. He almost thought it was Lisa, wanting to lean into the touch, but the presence of nitrile against his face had him alert immediately. He blinked his eyes open, shying away from the touch, confused and trapped in place. He saw the masked man above him, peering down almost curiously, gently running his hand down to Arkin’s shoulder, pulling the blanket away and revealing his bound wrist. He shivered at the air touching his skin, trying to twist his arm, but the Collector easily grabbed it, slapping a handcuff around his bicep. Arkin tried to crane his head and see what the psycho was doing, but he only was able to make out a chain attached to the cuff.

He was surprised when he felt the gloved hands move to his wrist, pulling and moving the leather straps. What was he planning? The strap loosened, and the tight hold of the man’s hand wrapped around the base of his wrist, pulling him free of the strap. Arkin’s mind was racing, wondering whether he should try and escape or not, and the man above him seemed to see his conflict, quickly cuffing his wrist. Then, he let go, and Arkin could freely move his hands, flexing his arm and trying to touch his face. He only got a few inches away before his arm was stopped, the sharp cut of the cuffs firm along his skin. He wasn’t going anywhere. He tried to move toward his other wrist with the same result. Then, he flashed his eyes over to the Collector. While Arkin had tested his bounds, the other man had walked slowly around the bed, watching intensely.

Arkin locked eyes with him, and again wondered,  is he gonna fucking eat me?  The look he was getting was like a starving man staring at a roast chicken, and he didn’t actually know what the Collector did to those he took, just that their fate was much, much worse than the ones he killed in their houses. He stayed still, trying to keep calm. He had to bide his time so he could get Hannah out. He had to get her to safety. The two men stared each other down for a few seconds, the masked man finally looking away to repeat the process of restraining his other arm. Then, he had Arkin sit up, propping him up with pillows and a thickly folded blanket. Arkin just watched him. What was the man even doing?

Then, his eyes widened as he saw the Collector lift a container, his stomach twisting in hunger. Was that...food? He glanced between the container and the masked man, nervous and suspicious. This was too fucking nice. This was going to cost him if it was really good. What did the Collector want? Was there poison in the food, or was he gonna feed him something disgusting? He watched them man take the lid off, revealing soup. It looked like chicken noodle soup, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure. The man pulled up a chair, sitting down and revealing a spoon from his pocket. What did this man want?

“What do you want, man?” Arkin questioned quietly, throat a bit scratchy. “You’re not just givin’ me food for nothing. I’m not fuckin’ stupid.”

The Collector looked at him for a moment, then, he leaned close, right up to Arkin’s ear, so close Arkin couldn’t get any further. Then, his eyes widened.  “Shhhh. It’s just soup. I don’t plan to kill you,  Arkin.”

His whole body shook violently, the cut of the cuffs feeling a bit sharper. How did he know his fucking name? The man pulled away, but he was smirking, carefully filling the spoon and bringing it to his mouth. He didn’t open his mouth. The masked man looked irritated, putting the spoonful back into the container. “How do you know my name?” Arkin nearly whispered, and the man smirked again. 

“ You’re family is so lovely. And the lovely lady begging for your safe return? She would do anything to see you again.” 

Arkin felt his stomach fill with dread, swirling painfully, but beyond that, he felt rage fill him. “Don’t fucking touch them, they have nothing to do with this!”

The Collector put the container down, ignoring him for a moment. “Do you hear m-“

He was cut off suddenly as the masked man grabbed his throat roughly, stopping his words and slamming him down onto the tower of pillows. He gagged and coughed, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, trying fruitlessly to move his arms and free his throat. Then, the masked man crawled on top of him, looming over him, using his free hand to yank on his hair. “ I own you, you little bitch. You’re mine now. I can take whoever I want. I was being nice, and you WILL eat, even if I have to shove it down your throat!”

The whisper had been harsh this time, vicious and angry, and Arkin’s head was spinning again. Was this all that his life would be now? Pain and sleep? He closed his eyes, terror ebbing away to exhaustion again. He couldn’t fight this, he needed to make a plan. He would get Hannah out...then...he...wo...uld...

He gasped as his throat was released, coughing until he felt like he was about to spit his lungs up. Then, the man pet the side of his head, hair still firmly held in his glove. His hand seemed to touch and feel the entirety of his face at this point, roaming over his eyesores and lips, smearing the saliva all along Arkin’s cheek. He was heaving, and he jumped as the hand then made its way down his chest. What- 

He bucked up as the fingers came down to the cut on his stomach, pulling at the tender flesh. “Wait-“

The hand in his hair tugged firmly, and he cut off his sentence. What was he doing?! The man pushed the blanket away, revealing the cut. What Arkin was not expecting were the lines of stitches holding it closed, dark against his pale skin. The masked man licked his lips, fondling the wound, tugging at a few of the stitches. Arkin tried to turn his head, tried to move away, tried to do anything, but he was trapped. The man then brought his mouth down to Arkin’s aching neck, and he forced his head back, holding it there with the hand in Arkin’s hair. He licked up the bruises, seeming to just want to taste his skin. Arkin wanted to do anything, but the threat of the man biting him was clear, and the rest of him was firmly held away. He was able to beat the man’s outer thighs with his hands, but the man didn’t seem to care.

What the Hell did this man want? To eat him? Or to fuck him? At this point he couldn’t clearly tell. Then, he let out a yelp of pain as his shoulder was bitten hard. “STOPSTOPSTOP-“

The man recoiled at his shout, releasing him entirely, still straddling him. Both men were breathing hard, but it was clear to Arkin that this was the man trying to rein himself in. Arkin felt the slight sensation of liquid dripping down the back of his shoulder, and he hoped it wasn’t blood. The two stared at each other for a few moments before the Collector carefully made his way off, straightening his clothes. He picked up the food and sat back down, offering the spoon to Arkin again. He ate it this time. The taste was so good, he closed his eyes. He didn’t even realise how hungry he was, the soup calming his twisting stomach. The two repeated this action again and again in silence, Arkin refusing to speak. It could have gone very wrong, and he had just gotten a warning. He needed to back off, or Hannah could become involved.

And what about Lisa and Cindy? What if THEY become involved?  The thought almost made him want to vomit. He had made a big mistake. He had put everyone in danger. He needed to fix this. He needed to fucking get on the Collector’s good side. He needed to... APOLOGISE. Fuck.

.....

The Collector was staring at Arkin. He had lost it there. He had fucking lost it. He should have been more careful, more controlled. He was just going to punish him for his outburst, just planning to make him regret talking to him like that. Instead, he had gotten overly excited, gone too far, and found himself on top of the injured man, getting all too physical. He wanted him to get flustered and overstimulated by the touches, trying to see him beg again. Wanting to see him cry out. The taste of his skin was just slightly sweaty, and he loved the smooth texture. Then, he had gone for his neck, and it was only when he did that, that he realised he had gone to far. Arkin had shouted, and he had been afraid. It had been enough to pull himself back together.

He had gone too far. DAMMIT! He wanted to ease into this, wanted him to be healthy enough to go as far as he wanted. Why was it so easy to lose control when it came to Arkin? He silently continued to feed the other man, noticing how his eyes never looked up at him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit. But he had already gone too far today, and he needed Arkin to begin listening to him. It was at that moment that Arkin looked up, face set and eyes scrunched in disgust. What was he...

“I’m...sorry,” Arkin said, and The Collector couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. What?

“I...was out of line...” he continued, teeth set firmly as he looked down again, anger creasing his face. 

The Collector felt himself almost vibrating with excitement, adrenaline making his hands shake. “Please, take out your anger on me-“

The Collector dropped the nearly empty container, broth splashing the floor, he didn’t care, though. He was back over Arkin, whose eyes had widened in shock, and as he went to open his mouth, he slammed their lips together, forcing his tongue into the injured man’s mouth. He wasn’t going to stop this time. He wasn’t going to pull away this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I know there’s a bit of build-up from the last chapter, so time to see how that goes! Some non-con as a warning, and remember; we all have to live with the consequences of our actions. Enjoy!

Arkin was not prepared for the onslaught of lips and tongue that assaulted his mouth. He struggled, tried to turn his mouth away, tried to do anything to get out of this. The masked man was not subdued; in fact he only seemed to grow more violently excited as Arkin fought him. He jerked away as the man released his lips, slowly pulling each of his gloves off. FUCK.  Arkin felt all too personally the rough fingers against his skin, the way it groped at him as the man leaned back down, attacking his mouth again. What was he-

The man pushed the blanket off of Arkin, leaving him defenceless aside from his briefs. NONONONONONO- 

He tried to scream, to slam their heads together, to bite his lips or tongue or cause him any pain. He only succeeded in splitting his own lip. The blood was quickly lapped up by the Collector, who almost seemed more excited by the metallic flavour. “Sto-“ the word was cut off again and again as he fought to breathe, the man’s fingers seeming to linger and rub from his chest up to his neck, around it, then back down. He was panicking, it was obvious. He tugged so hard, his wrists began to bleed, and he fought with all his might when he felt the hard press of the man’s erection against his stomach. The man  was  getting off to his pain! This was fucking sick!

Then, the man pulled away, siting up onto his knees, quickly undoing his belt buckle and pants, pushing them down his a bit. Arkin could see the outline of his hard-on. Dear-fucking-Christ. Then, he pulled out his dick, and Arkin looked away, stomach twisting and flipping. He felt sick, he felt fucking sick. He was gasping, eyes closed, trying to suppress the awful twisting in his stomach. The man ignored his distress, and just started stroking himself, aiming his dick straight at Arkin’s face. “Stop, stop,” Arkin tried to say, eyes watering. No! He wasn’t gonna cry in front of this fucker!

The Collector seemed only to stroke fast when he did that, and it was clear he liked the begging. “I don’t want this, just fuckin’-“

The Collector’s free hand clamped over his mouth tightly, so tight it caused his lip to split wider, blood salty on his tongue. “ Shhhh,”  The Collector said, voice quiet. “ Wouldn’t want to wake her, would we?”

Arkin’s eyes snapped open for a moment, peering up at the Collector as he slowly got himself off. Was he threatening to hurt Hannah? Would he- try to-

Arkin’s stomach rolled particularly hard, and his eyes slammed shut again, trying to calm his aching stomach.  Please, somebody help...

.....

The Collector was shivering in pleasure, his spine straight as he stood over Arkin. He wanted to mark this stupid man, degrade him, show him who he belonged to now. He felt a spike of jealousy at the thought of the woman pleading for his safe return on the news. That whore didn’t own this bitch,  HE DID!  He could see the glassiness of tears in Arkin’s eyes, and felt blood under his fingers. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He was stroking faster and faster now, moving closer to Arkin’s face, enjoying the look of absolute hate that crossed Arkin’s face as he stared into the Collector’s eyes.  You’re mine now, little bitch. You’re going to learn this soon enough, but now I’m just making sure you know. You may hate it now, but you’ll like it soon enough. For that stupid whore’s sake, you better fucking like it!

Then, he brought his hips close to Arkin’s face, holding it in place as he rubbed the head of his cock against Arkin’s cheek. The man closed his eyes, and a single tear drip out freed by the quick action. It was too good. The Collector came across Arkin’s face, rubbing it into his cheek and hair with his sticky cock.  That fucking right. I fucking OWN YOU!

Arkin didn’t move for a moment, then he started to heave under the Collector’s hand. The masked man released his captive’s mouth, and after another heave, he spewed his dinner across the ground, the mixture slightly yellowed by stomach acid. He kept hacking and coughing, tears now streaking freely down his cheeks, his lip bleeding down onto the pillow half-stained with vomit. He looked pale and tired, but this wasn’t how that was going to end. The Collector was  LIVID.  Never once in his life had anyone been so, so...defiant! He should have just accepted his fucking role! How dare his fucking vomit on his floor! How dare he do it after they had kissed, after he had came across the injured man’s face!

He smacked the man so hard, his eyes went glassy and unfocused for a few seconds. Then, he tucked himself away, zipping and re-buckling up his pants, grabbing the man by the throat. At this point, the area was red and deeply bruised, a slowly bleeding bite on his shoulder still smeared with fresh blood. Lower, the Collector could see scratches he hadn’t recognised before, most likely made when he had been attacking the man’s neck and chest. His eyes traveled back up to Arkin’s face, seeing pain and confusion as he came to, wanting to tug free his throat but not having the strength. He still had cum on one of his cheeks and lathered into his hair, and his jaw quivered slightly, saliva dripping down his chin.

What had he done? He wanted to get Arkin back to a more sustainable health before he did anything more! The Collector released his throat quickly, Arkin recoiling a bit as he hacked up some more phlegm and saliva, curling away from the Collector. He didn’t like this. He didn’t want Arkin to be this afraid. He didn’t want another terrified lamb, he wanted someone as devoted and caring toward him as Arkin had been to that fucking family. If they had only listened, Arkin would have definitely been able to free the family, and he would have been caught. Instead, they had all fought him every step of the way, and the Collector had in turn killed each of them. But the little girl listened. She obeyed. She trusted Arkin. And he took care of her.

The Collector went to touch Arkin’s face, feeling anger in his stomach when Arkin glared through his tears. He had wanted so badly to see Arkin cry, and now he couldn’t help but hate it. It was ugly and made him feel restless. He didn’t like a crying Arkin. He wanted that feisty, clever man to try and yell at him, try to trick him into letting him free, anything! He didn’t want to deal with this-this-mess! So, he climbed off the bed, searching and grabbing a needle before pulling out a capped clear substance. He filled the syringe, walked over, and grabbed Arkin’s arm, refusing to look at the man. As he stabbed into his arm, he took stock of what he would need for the following day, and how he would deal with the situation now. This was a fucking nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Collector may not have gone all the way, but the damage has already been done. This isn’t going to be the last time, either. Only now, Arkin won’t be so ignorant of the situation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. This chapter shouldn’t be too long, but I hope it gets the cogs going. Remember, the Collector learned this from his father, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel.:) Hope you enjoy!

Arkin felt disgusting; a murderer that had taken him hostage and had repeatedly beaten him senseless had just jacked off onto his face. Never in the entirety of his life, not even in prison, had anything like this ever happened. Stealing from rich bastards to provide for your daughter never made enemies, and so he had never gotten jumped. He hadn’t been there for very long either, so he had never felt too much like a captive. Now, though, he felt like a puppet, ropes and chains tugging him around and making it impossible to escape. 

Vomitting had felt better, and so much worse. Getting hit and choked after all the abuse and the awful nausea-

And then the tears. The stupid, FUCKING  TEARS!

All he could do was glare at the masked man, hating him in silence. How could anyone do something like this to another person? He was relieved when the man got off of him, free from the grasping hands and cruel eyes. He came back not thirty seconds later, a syringe in his hand, and he refused to look at Arkin.  Fucking coward.  The brief sting of the needle entering his skin was noted but brushed aside when compared to other pains he was experiencing. His throat hurt, his mouth hurt, his chest and stomach ached, and he was cold. So very cold...

Whatever had been in the syringe made its way through his blood, and he began to feel drowsy in minutes. The Collector was still staring down over him, and one bare hand was rubbing the bite mark. As Arkin began to lose touch with reality, he felt the hand move down to his wrist, unlocking the cuff, then the bicep band, as well. He wanted to pull him arm away, but he felt heavy. He was so tired.......

.....

The Collector watched Arkin relax into the bed, losing consciousness. He freed his right arm, gently turning it over as he followed the lines of cuts on his forearm and bicep. Arkin had been fighting the whole time to be free, and the cuffs had torn up his skin. He undid one of his feet, and he found himself rubbing the length of his shin. Arkin’s skin was worryingly cool, and he knew he needed to warm him up more, but he needed to clean the man up first. Vomit, blood and semen were splashed across his skin in multiple places, some of the stitches along his stomach had pulled out, leaving angry red skin and a few blood drips. The bite, the cuts and scratches, the layers of bruises along his jaw, throat and shoulders-

FUCK.

The Collector leaned over Arkin, cupping his head and clenching his fingers in his hair. It was like a rock had settled in his stomach anytime he looked at how damaged Arkin was, and he hated it.  Should I just kill him?

The thought was startling. Kill Arkin? His heart was racing, and his hands started to shake. He could just leave him like this, and he would starve or freeze. Or he could strangle him, ending it now. There were so many ways he could end this man, and it wouldn’t even be difficult. But he didn’t want to. He let go of Arkin’s head, bringing his hands down to the unconscious man’s chest, hands fidgeting as they rub against his collarbone. He hurt him too much. He let himself fall into the angry cycle he always went into when he-

Blood. So much blood. Where was mom? What was the weird meat on the ground? Why was dad laughing?

NO. He wouldn’t be thinking of that now. He couldn’t hurt Arkin anymore and come back from it, he would die. And could he deal with that? Could he go back to just killing people over and over again, destroying friends and families, bringing in new people to amuse him until he got bored and went hunting for more? He still wanted to kill. He still wanted to destroy and hurt and torment. But now, well, he had Abby and Arkin. He had people he liked, and wanted to stay with. He had never had  people , not ones he cared about. He pulled away, forcing himself to walk to the door. He needed to clean up this mess...

He stopped, turning back to Arkin. The tips of his toes were sharply red, and he was pale along his stomach and cheeks. He moved back, pulling the blanket back up and around him. He would be okay. He would take better care of him. He couldn’t let this keep happening. He walked back to the door, unlocking it and heading to his supply room. He was going to take care of Arkin. He was going to take care of this.

.....

Abby shivered, hearing the door creak closed, then lock. She had no idea what had happened to the man on the bed, but she knew he had to be special. The Collector didn’t do these sorts of things to just anyone in his collection. She wanted to know who else was so interesting that they were able to capture the masked man’s attention. She knew her trunk was unlocked; the man had slowly gotten into a habit of leaving her trunk unlocked. She rarely left it anyway, but she had learned when he might need her, and right now seemed like a good time.

She had heard the shouts, the screams and curses, the terror in the injured man’s voice, but she didn’t actually know what had happened. She could imagine, though. She had never heard someone getting raped before, but she imagined it was what that man had sounded like. She slowly pushed open the trunk, looking out. The room was still faintly lit, and empty of her captor, her master. She crawled over to the man, cautious. She had been told not to show her face to him barely twenty minutes earlier, and she had seen firsthand what happened to people who didn’t listen. Glancing up, one hand covering her face, she saw the man’s own, pale and still, his eyes closed, unmoving. There was something dripping along his forehead and cheek, but he wasn’t even twitching. He was asleep. She could look him over.

As she moved a bit closer, she caught the husky scent of sex, and realised what the milky liquid on the man’s face was. She sighed, pitying the man. She was fortunate he had never found her sexually appealing, his aggressiveness was overbearing in a task as simple as putting make-up on her. She was kneeling beside his bed, refusing to touch him, but wanting to be some form of comfort. But would HE be angry? She didn’t know what the Collector was planning, and moving any further could destroy all her good behaviour. So, she sat there in indecision, waiting for the masked man to return. She would know what exactly he wanted when he came back. He would tell her. She knew he would tell her. They had a lot in common, after all.

.....

When the Collector returned, he had a large back full of supplies and equipment. He unlocked the door, glancing down at the remains of the man from earlier. He found himself irritated with the task of disposing of it now, and simply wanted it gone. Should he just toss it down the trash-shoot, or take the time to call his dogs? Either way, he would be left with some clean-up...

He opened the final door, and his eyes immediately fell on the calm back of Abby. She was sitting perfectly still, kneeling at Arkin’s side, turning to look at him as he entered, lowering herself as he closed the door and approached. Her eyes glanced away for a second, and then, she spoke, looking up at him. “Would you like me to help?”

The question should have enraged him. It should have made him strangle her on the spot. Instead, it had him leaning down, hugging her tightly to him. He wanted to fall to his knees for a moment, wanted to have a moment of weakness, but he couldn’t, not as things were. He cared deeply about Abby, but she was part of his collection. While that was true, he could never show her that weakness. But, God, did he want to. He wanted to tell he how confused he felt about Arkin, how there was this sensation in his stomach anytime he thought of him, the excitement, and a weight on his shoulders whenever he thought about killing him. 

He didn’t know what this meant! Before, everything had made sense! He killed, tortured, destroyed. He worked with insects because he understood them. He killed because he hated humans. Then, he met Abby, and realised not all humans deserved to die, and if he could search for them, try and find them, he might find more worthy pieces of his collection. Then, the Chase family had happened. He had four perfect subjects to choose from, each unique enough to have garnered the possibility of keeping. It wasn’t long before Michael lost his usefulness, and then Victoria as well. That wasn’t odd, though. They were older, rotten already. Their children would have to do.

Either of the girls would have been fine. Both were fearful, submissive, and would listen. But then one of them was stuck to the wall, and moments later, he found him. Arkin. He had been in the house the whole time, sneaking around and getting in his way when he had finally found the younger daughter. He had immediately been furious, done all he could to hurt the man, but he had wanted to keep him. More than the little girl who he couldn’t find, he wanted Arkin. He had been shouted at and cursed at and enraged by the man, but he had freed himself, saved the little girl, and outsmarted him. It was the opposite of what he thought he wanted. He should have hated the man. Instead, he had started to feel fear, a fear that had pushed him to beat the man nearly to death and then bind his injuries, to force himself on him then drug him, to strangle and hit him when he didn’t do anything.

And in that moment, he was becoming like his father. He was becoming violent and irrational to the people he cared about, was supposed to take care of, should be keeping safe. He was becoming the raving, crazy man who got high on formaldehyde and killed his family. He hated this. He wouldn’t be this. He would change this, and for that, he needed two things.

He needed to have complete control over Arkin, needed him to start getting attached.

And, he needed Abby to help him drag Arkin down. Together, the three of them would be a family, and nothing was going to tear them apart.

He would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to be getting more complicated soon, especially in the FEELINGS department, so look out for that! And I hope you’re excited, because things don’t end here; the Collector just has to take a step back now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO’S BACK! Hello, sorry for the wait, but I was getting married! Now, back to our angsty, really need to talk to each other, unhealthy ways of dealing with problems boys.:) Hope you enjoy, I actually can’t wait for the next chapter.:)

When the Collector released Abby, he immediately directed her to clean up the vomit and remaining broth on the floor. He handed her a large towel, and pointed her to her work. She moved quickly, mopping up the mess on the ground, not even gagging as she cleaned up the bile and stomach acid mixed with the mushy remains of noodles and chicken. Seeing she had that under control, he moved on to Arkin. The man needed to be completely wiped down and put into new clothes, and then moved to a more permanent fixture where he could watch him and leave him when he wasn’t here. He needed a place that Arkin could be trapped, where he couldn’t use his skills to break out of. He had an idea, but he needed to make sure he could secure the area first.

With a sterile wipe, he cleaned his semen away, leaving his skin damp and chilly, but sanitized. Then, he moved on to his jaw. With a fresh wipe, he cleaned away the vomit, adjusting the pillows so that the tacky bile left on it wouldn’t smear back onto his clean face, and made his way down to the bruised mess that was his neck. Hand and finger prints were everywhere, ranging from red and pink to deep purple to pale white. The bruises would start setting in the next couple of days, and then they would really start to show damage, yellow and purple fighting for space on the skin of his neck. His eyes moved to the bite mark on Arkin’s neck, and he studied it deeper, finding that it had stopped bleeding. 

The wound itself was only a few small tears of the skin, and was mostly bruising. He moved onto cleaning the open wounds with a fresh wipe, using that one as well as he moved down to the stitches that had torn through on his stomach wound. The damage was all minor, nothing too crazy, but he knew the damage was deeper than that. He was quickly destroying any possibility of Arkin listening to him ever, and he needed to fix that as soon as possible. Once he had the majority of Arkin cleaned, he moved to his arms, cleaning the chafing and cutting from the cuffs. Releasing his remaining leg and arm, he carefully scrubbed that arm as well, then placed the rest of the wipes beside Abby, motioning for her to clean up the last of the mess with them.

He turned back to Arkin, scooping him up. He needed to move him to another room, and he needed to properly bathe him. Then, he could look at all of his injuries, as well as get him some proper clothes. And the training would start then. He slung Arkin over his shoulder, unlocking the door and carrying the man out, he re-locked the doors, stepping over the thin lines of tripwire and traps. He needed to get some rest after all of this...

.....

When he reached the bathroom, the Collector placed Arkin in the empty tub, locking the door and starting the water. While it slowly filled around Arkin’s legs, he spread out a towel on the ground, and grabbed some gentle soap and a soft sponge. He made his way back to the edge of the tub, setting the things down on the ground and he kneeled beside Arkin, turning off the water as it reached just above his mid-thigh. He rolled his sleeves up, grabbing the sponge and pressing it into the water.Once the sponge was dripping wet, he squeezed out most of the water, and spread the soap on one side. Then, he started scrubbing at Arkin’s chest, carefully soaping up each cut, scrape, and bruise.

Colour was beginning to rise along Arkin’s collar bone and chest, and the crusting blood flaked and soaked into the sponge as the Collector scrubbed at his shoulder. Then, he took his arms, cleaning them one at a time, taking special care around his chafed cuts. He paused on his path down to his stomach, leaning him forward to get a quick glance at his stitches, relieved to see none of the ones on his back had pulled open. He would clean his back once he took him out; as things stood, the water would get in the wounds and allow bacteria to start growing, and he had enough problems as it was with Arkin.

He leaned the unconscious man back against the edge of the tub, and turned his attention back to his stomach. Two of the stitches had popped, one on either side of the wound, but neither had been deep, and they wouldn’t open the wound if he removed them. He reached around, feeling for his utility belt. He found it, then slowly traced his finger along the edge of it, searching for the right tool...

His fingers found the tool, feeling the short-pronged top that came to a sharp edge in the center, the handles going down much further. He pulled them off, checking them over. The wire-cutters. He carefully brought them to the popped stitches, cutting and removing them one at a time, a few drops of blood welling up. He returned the wire-cutters to his belt, then grabbed the sponge to finish scrubbing his stomach and hips, careful around his stitches. Then, his eyes dropped lower, resting on his sopping wet briefs. He had been dreading and dreaming about this part, excited to fully examine his...well, his  Arkin. 

He moved his free hand down, tugging at the edge of his wet underwear, his fingers slipping under the band. The damp, clammy skin there had him feeling excited, but he shook that away. The skin belonged to him, it didn’t matter if he spent the next few days properly seeing to his health and well-being. He could leave marks all over once the man was not teetering so close to death. He tried to slide the briefs off smoothly, but found the wet fabric unwilling to cooperate. It rolled down a bit, but slid and squeaked against Akron’s skin, refusing to move further with one hand tugging at it. Irritated, the Collector placed down his sponge, tugging on the opposite end of his briefs as well, seeing the side slip down, getting caught about an inch down toward his thighs. 

He pulled at the other side, moving about an inch past that, and the light brown hair trailing down his lower stomach became more prominent, the pale skin around his hips and ass slowly being revealed. He continued the slowly, jerky motion of removing the wet underwear, stopping to study Arkin when they were about halfway down his thighs. Arkin was semi-erect in the cool air, and he was fairly sized, not too large or too small. His thighs cupped his prick, smooth and lightly blanketed in short, thin hairs, and the Collector gave an appreciative hum. The man was handsome, intelligent, strong, and unrelenting, an equal to him, but that had not guaranteed he would want him. It was by sheer luck he had found an  attractive  worthy adversary...

He pulled his eyes away from the man after the cursory glance, not wanting to stir up any emotions. He couldn’t act on any feelings he had right now, and not even his earlier session could ascertain control over his desires. He finished the arduous task of removing Arkin’s briefs, going to retrieve his sponge and finish his washing. He wiped down Arkin’s penis, moving on to his thighs, then down his knees and calves, carefully lifting them one at a time and soaping up the underside as well, glancing down the valley of his legs before quickly looking away. No, he needed to keep control. Only Arkin had ever made him lose control so severely, and he refused to continue to give the man that power over him. If he had simply continued on to that desk, if he hadn’t become so incensed by his insults, he would have found the girl.

He placed his leg back down, cleaning his feet quickly, then turning the water back on for a moment, washing the sponge in the fresh water before turning it off. He sponges the soapy suds away, leaving his skin dripping and clean. Once he finished the quick rinse, he unplugged the bath, watching it slowly drain, taking his time to reign in his swirling desire. He breathed deeply as the drain hissed as the last of the water slipped down it, and he moved, lifting the unconscious man into his arms, turning and laying him on the towel. He then stood, grabbing another towel from the counter and opening up the cabinet, pulling out a shirt and some sweatpants along with a first aid kit.

He stepped back over the Arkin, and began the process of drying him off, placing the clothes to one side and the kit on the other as he wiped away water, dabbing around the still bleeding cut on his stomach. Then, he put the towel over his legs and lower stomach, pulling out a disinfectant wipe and carefully pressing it to one of the open wounds. He held it there for a few seconds then moved onto the other side, seeing the slight bleeding had almost completely stopped. Then, he placed small, butterfly bandaids along the wounds, two on each side for extra support. Then, he sat him up, pressing Arkin against his shoulder, blinking as the man nuzzled in to him, shivering harshly.

He took more time cleaning the stitches and scrapes along his back, adjusting Arkin so he was in his lap, and the man nearly moulded himself to the Collector, resting his chin on the masked man’s shoulder. He would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the blatant vulnerability of the man beneath him, weak and unable to defend himself in the moment, but he was rather enjoying the amount of neediness the man was showing to him. He liked it. He wanted  more. But not right now. Maybe a bit later. He reluctantly set the man back on the town, then removed gauze from the kit, along with medical tape. He carefully wrapped the cuts on Arkin’s forearm and bicep, eyes catching on the other scars, the ones he had cleaned and bandages days earlier. They needed new wrappings, as he had removed them while he had been cleaning him, but they seemed to be healing well.

He slid the tip of his index finger along a few of the lines, finding himself growing coldly fascinated by the cuts again. Once Arkin was awake and the Collector had the time to get some rest, he would find out what those cuts  really  were. For now, here-wrapped them, placing the remaining gauze in the first-aid kit and closing it.

Next, he turned to the shirt, unfolding it. It was long and fairly thin, but it would keep the unconscious man warm enough. He scooped up his head, guiding his shirt around it, forcing the head-opening down his neck. Then, he did the same with his arms, first the left, then the right, pulling the shirt down to his hips. Now, for the pants. The Collector shook the pants out, scrunching up the legs one at a time to help get his feet through. Once the cuffs of the pants were clasped around his ankles, he pulled them up beneath the towel, intent on not getting any more distracted. He was careful around the man’s crotch, the waistband wide to safely move it over his dick and set it high on his hips. Then, he moved the towel away, and looked the man over.

Arkin was clean and his skin was warm with colour. He didn’t seem to be shivering as much, but he still needed to be moved back to a bed to get warm soon. The Collector did not have a room ready yet, though. He had a plan, but it would take some time. He needed to make sure Arkin wouldn’t go anywhere until then. He glanced around searching for it...Ah! The brown trunk in the bathroom wasn’t one he usually used for permanent fixtures, but he would use it just this once...

He hoisted Arkin into his arms, tossing his over his shoulder as he opened the trunk. Then, he settled him inside of it, carefully adjusting his limbs before he closed it, latching it firmly shut and doing a quick clean of the bathroom. He knew exactly where he would keep Arkin...

.....

Arkin woke up in near pitch black darkness. His skin fall clean and fresh, then minor aches and pains had all quieted, and he felt warm. This was strange, this was nothing like what he had passed out to. He moved his arms, surprised to see find them free and unbound, then his legs. As he moved, he felt the comfortable weight of clothes against his skin, and the tightness of...were those bandages? On his wounds? But why? He slowly sat up, cautiously looking around. Nothing holding him to the bed, but he could be trapped here. He searched the edge of the bed, but to no avail. He couldn’t see any traps or weapons, no wires or bear traps. He slowly, wobbling the whole time, made his way to his knees, then feet on the bed, glancing across the floor. Maybe he could jump...

He took his chance, leaping, ready to make it across when he slammed hard into something that felt suspiciously like the edge of a cage or fence. Rubbing his cheek in pain, he felt along the barrier, feeling small, even holes and strong thin lines of metal. He was in some sort of cages off area! He pushed his fingers through, surprised to feel the rough texture of a tarp under his fingers. Where was he? And how did he get here? He shuffled along the wall, finding where it turned and met another wall. He turned back into the small, caged area, and he could just barely make out the shape of the bed. That was it. No toilet, no tables, nothing he could try to use to escape. He was trapped in a fucking box.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time; the Collector comes to see Arkin, and we get the long-awaited interrogation. Can’t wait for it! Also, we get to see a bit outside of the Collector’s torture house.:;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something new! Now, I spend a lot of this chapter building up, so look out for part two of his interrogation.;) Enjoy!

Arkin was leaning against the edge of the bed, head down as he tapped his fingers. It had been a few hours, at least. His stomach had gone through an awful phase of twisting and aching in hunger, and each pang made his regret vomiting. After about an hour of that, maybe shorter, the pain subsided, and all he could do was sit and wait. He had thought about his situation, about what the masked man had done to him, about Lisa and Cindy. They had all spiralled down to one place;  _I’m gonna die in this cage_.

He would push the thought away, but he couldn’t ignore the truth; he couldn’t get out of here. He hadn’t found a door, hadn’t been able to lift any edges, and his hands were too torn and mangled in the moment to try and climb. He was trapped, locked here until his fate was decided. Why had the Collector moved him? Was it because he was going to kill him? Or would the torture begin soon? Arkin tried to swallow, letting out a soft cough. His mouth was unbelievably dry, and it almost felt like the inner layer of his throat would get stuck against itself. He tried to produce saliva, tried to wet his lips, but his tongue felt rough and jarringly dry. When was the last time he drank actual water?

The inside of his ear itched, and he grimaced. The small jab from the needle in the phone. He had forgotten about that. It seemed with that, all his wounds began to make themselves known. Mild aches, unbearable itchiness, and a certain soreness around his throat had him back on his feet, pacing. Why had the Collector bandages them? Why had he given him clothes? If he planned to keep him alive, what did he want? Was it...sex? Did the man actually want to fuck him? Or was it some sick torture? Did he get off to making others feel powerless?

Arkin carefully reached under his shirt, muscles aching as he stretched them to his back. Each of the wounds had been fully closed, properly stitched and clean. He was unbelieving of exactly how properly taken care of he was. He pulled his arm back out, feeling the tight gauze through the sleeves of the shirt. What the hell was all of this? Arkin couldn’t understand any of this! He paced for a few moments longer, sighing as he sank back down onto the edge of the bed. Come on, already! It was almost worse to wait than be tortured. At least he knew where the man was...

Arkin carefully laid back, huffing and pulling the blanket back over him. He was still cold, and his whole body was exhausted. He blinked, groaning as he carefully turned onto his side. He couldn’t just endlessly stay awake, he needed to get more rest. Even as he began to relax under the warming blanket, he shivered, back prickling and stomach rolling, this time entirely separate from his hunger.  _Just let me fucking sleep_...

.....

When the Collector finally returned to his Collection, moving quickly in excitement, the sun was just setting, and he was ready. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder filled with food, water, and plenty of little “presents” for his newest piece. He checked around him as he entered the abandoned hotel, searching for any possible witnesses. No one. Far down, maybe about 150 yards or so, a small circle of homeless people had started a barrel fire, moving around to grab at blurry shapes, probably trash they would use as fuel. Those weren’t really threats for him. He turned back to the dilapidated building, stepping full inside and shutting the side door, locking it and making sure the alarm was still properly set. All was well. Then, he did his usual rounds. 

He sneered as he came upon a body; it was the man from the day prior. He was beginning to stink, and he saw a few flies perching on some of his open wounds, laying eggs or simply devouring the sticky, bacteria-riddled blood, wet and gelatinous after hours of coagulation. Great, it was in his way. He stepped over the body, avoiding the dried blood on the ground, and unlocking the doors to Abby’s room. He would feed her first, then he could deal with the troublesome corpse. As he entered and locked the door, he saw Abby. She was sleeping in the bed now, something she on-and-off earned the privilege of.

He walked over, and he stroked her hair, gently so as not to hurt her. She was deeply asleep, and seemed to be having a nightmare, something she struggled with frequently. He knew she shouldn’t be so obedient, that it took a toll on her to listen to him, but he would never give her away. She was HIS, she would have to live with those nightmares, because he would take care of her waking life. As he played with her hair, his mind wandered to Arkin. Would he be the same? Arkin was a little bitch, and he definitely needed to be taught a lesson, but he wanted him to show that feistiness, he  wanted  to see the fight in him. It was almost like he was the opposite of Abby, and it gave his life that meaning, that fire that Abby was missing. Abby could easily calm him, but Arkin? Arkin could make his hold being burn. Arkin gave him some other, angrier motivation. 

Abby whimpered, but she turned her head toward him, body adjusting for comfort. He would let her sleep. Even if it was just nightmares. He pulled out a granola bar and a peanut butter sandwich, and placed them carefully on top of her trunk, along with a water bottle. Then, he went back to the door, smirking. Time to finally take care of that fucking body.

.....

When he reached above the large area he kept his dogs, he could see they were restless. One of the dogs had died at some point, and was rotting in a corner. The dog had once been a woman, but she was barely even recognisable at this point, flies buzzing, large chucks of her face having already decayed away. Well, he would need to dispose of it now. The other were snarling and shivering in their little enclosures, and each had cowered down as he stepped above them, watching them whine, their mouths bloody and sickening. Perfect. He glanced over, seeing the waiting body of the man in the room immediately next to it. He had dragged it over to reduce the chances of his dogs killing themselves. Then, with the press of a button, they were released, howling and snarling as they attacked the body, jumping and lunging for the fresh meat in hunger.

They tore and ripped at its skin, gushing, blackened blood oozing out, staining their hands, arms, mouths and faces. It splattered on the ground, and the loud, wet sounds of chewing filled the room. One of the dogs, unable to find a place amongst the others, wandered to its fallen dog brethren, and after sniffing at it a few times, began to tear and rip at what remained of its flesh, pulling away rubbery, almost jerky-like flesh. The Collector smirked. Perfect, two birds, one stone. He turned, leaving them to their meals, and headed down to the next hall. He had a few more pieces to check on before he reached Arkin. He needed to punish whichever one had helped release the man the day prior. He would find out, it would be easy. And, oh, would it be fun.

.....

Arkin was just beginning to stir when he heard the rhythmic thudding. It was something metal being struck by something else, then he clearly recognised the thudding of feet against concrete. Someone had just jumped down onto the ground, and it had sounded close. As his eyes snapped open, the loud sound of metal sliding against metal and the rushing of air past him hand him scrambling up, searching. It didn’t take long to find the person he had heard. The large man was looming over him, and he stocked toward him, Arkin stumbling off the other end of the bed. The Collector was here. He had been waiting, had been worried for this moment( _ at least he didn’t forget you, didn’t leave you here to die,  _ _he thought for one traitorous second_ ), but now that he was here, he was completely unprepared. 

As quick as he had tried to move, he was groggy and sluggish from sleep, and had gotten caught up in his blanket, entangled and fighting to get free. The Collector, though, had no such problems. He grabbed Arkin’s forearms, yanking and pulling him back onto the bed, the man fighting him, nearly falling over as his knees hit the edge of the bed. “FUCK-!”

The masked man forced him down, his face pressed against the blanket, the man settled on top of him, grabbing his arms, forcing one painfully under his knee as he held the other with one hand. Then, Arkin heard and felt the firm clink of metal thunking against itself, the cold metal of cuffs causing his stomach to drop. Nonononono-

The cuff then snapped around his other wrist as well, and he was bucking and kicking his feet, chanting “Get off me!” In fear.  Not again. I can’t let him take advantage of me again, I can’t let him touch me, can’t let him  FUCK  ME-

The man leaned down over him, the whole of his body being held down, and he flinched as he breathed into his ear. “ _ Shhhhhhhhh. It’s time to eat,  _ _Arkin_.”

Arkin felt bile rise in his throat. Eat? Was he gonna force him to give him a blowjob? No! The man slowly leaned away, one hand firmly placed against his shoulder. The man was almost entirely off of the bed when Arkin kicked out with his feet, skittering from under the masked man’s hand, twisting against the foot of the bed and face him, huffing and shaking. “ **DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME**!”

The man grabbed one of his legs, pulling him back toward him. Arkin screamed, tossing and throwing his body around, and the man forced his legs down, locking his own around them as he straddled Arkin. “ **GET OFF OF ME**!”

The man held his shoulders down, and he shushed him, trying to sound soothing. “ _ I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to  feed  _ _you_ ,”  he murmured, gently shushing and trying to stroke his head. 

It took a few minutes of struggling and adrenaline-induced fear, but he finally went limp, gasping and almost sobbing. He was finally coming back to himself from his hysteria, and he let his head flop back, closing his eyes, unintentionally baring his throat to the man. His chest hurt, his head hurt, his vision was blurry, and he was finding all that sudden energy gone. He groaned, trying to force his eyes back open. “ _You’re going to sit up and eat quietly, then we’re going to talk_ ,”  the masked man whispered, hands firmly gripping the edges of his shoulders, and he cracked his eyes open to stare at the man.

He was staring back down at him, but his eyes kept lingering along his neck, flashing back up from it. Arkin felt a little sick. This crazy killer had somehow gotten a hard-on for him, and was all for feeding him? And what did he mean, they were gonna talk? “What the Hell do you want, man?”

The Collector looked down, seeming to study him for a few moments. “ _ In this world, only one person from each family will survive and live with the torment of watching all the others die.  ** YOU  ** _ _were that one, and so were all the others here. And now, you are mine_.”

Arkin scrunched up his face, anger and disbelief swirling in his stomach. “The fuck does that even mean?”

The man pulled him up, disentangling their legs and putting Arkin back against the foot of the bed. He opened his bag, pulling out a sandwich and a bottle of water. Arkin’s eyes zeroed in, but he refused to move. Something was very wrong with this man, and he couldn’t trust him, not in the slightest. Arkin kept his mouth closed, refusing to show interest in the food.  What the fuck does this guy even want?  The masked man carefully unwrapped the sandwich, and Arkin winced as his stomach rolled in hunger. The heavy scent of peanut butter had wafted out, and his whole body twitched. He was so hungry...

The man brought the sandwich closer, almost pressing it to Arkin’s lips, some of the peanut butter smearing along his lower lip. He was shaking, trying to reign in his hunger, but it was like acid was crawling straight up his throat, his mouth just barely damp with saliva. He hesitantly licked at his lips, and the salty taste of peanut butter filled his mouth. He lost the battle. He opened his mouth, biting down, and the wonderful taste of peanut butter and some type of jam spread across his tongue. He didn’t think he had ever tasted food this delicious before. He savoured the bite, and a drawn out moan rumbled up his chest, eyes closed in pleasure. If he had kept them open, he would have seen the Collector staring down at him, lips parting as he swallowed. But he didn’t.

It was half-a-second later that he started choking, trying to swallow the food and failing with his dry throat. The masked man lunged forward, pulling the sandwich away and pressing the lip of the bottle to his mouth, cool water spilling into his mouth. He gulped again and again, the almost sweet water seeming to move through every part of his body. The man took away the water all too soon, and he leaned forward, attempting to drink more. The man pushed his mouth back with one finger, shaking his head. “ _Eat_.”

The sandwich was pressed to his mouth again, and he chomped down on it again. He was more careful as he ate this time, finishing half-the sandwich before it was pulled away, the water bottle returning. He gulped down the last of the bottle gratefully, gasping and breathing deeply, leaning his back against the foot of the bed, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. The sandwich was back at his mouth, though, and he kept eating. Two bites later, he was beginning to feel full. Another few bites, and he was done, finally leaning his head back, licking at his lips, cleaning up his mouth. He was so tired now, and he was beginning to feel alive again.

The gloved hand of the masked man reached for his jaw, guiding him to straighten a bit. “ _ Now, we  _ **_TALK_**.”

Arkin tensed, the relaxed exhaustion turning quickly into stress, his legs posed to kick out. The masked man stood, one hand on his shoulder, and he carefully stepped behind Arkin, leaving him feeling jittery and uncomfortable. Then, the other hand clapped onto his other shoulder, the feeling of his lips against his ear making him jump. “ _What are the cuts on your arm from?_ ”

For a moment, Arkin was confused? Cuts on his arm? This psycho had given him so many injuries, who could remember exactly where he got each-

_ His stomach dropped as he remembered.  He was dragging his nail repeatedly down the length of his arm, tearing the flesh open and digging in. It hurt, Hell it was like glass was in his veins, but he kept going, blood dripping down onto his jeans and soaking into the trunk. He could even feel a bit of it saturating his sock. But he didn’t stop, forcing himself to stay awake. He would get there, he would find his way out, and he would find this motherfucker again. _

The cuts tingled slightly under their bandages, and he felt his heart raising. “Which-uh, which cuts?”

_**Fuck**_.

He stammered, something he rarely did. He fucked up. The man’s hand slid down his right arm, past the curve of his elbow, then resting on his forearm. “ _**These** _ _cuts_ ,”  he said, and Arkin squirmed, a raw animalistic fear wriggling in his gut.

He kept his mouth closed, jaw clenching to stop the shaking. The man  had  to know. He just wanted to watch him struggle! After about thirty seconds, the chest of the man pressed against his back and Arkin was fully aware of how close the man’s other hand was to his throat. He could feel the fingers rubbing circles against the aching patch of skin he had bitten, and he winced, biting onto his lip to keep from making any noises. “ _ Come on,  **Arkin**.  _ _I wanna know_.”

The way he said his name felt wrong, sick. He wanted to sneer, and he wasn’t feeling so good with the way his stomach, suddenly far too full, was flipping. He shook his head. He had closed his eyes, ready for the pain. Instead, the hand massaging his injured shoulder slid down along his chest, hooking under his right arm, squeezing him tightly against him. “ _Tell me, or I’ll think you want to do...other things with your mouth_.”

Arkin still felt sick, still felt suffocated, but now he was angry. “Fucking try it, I’ll bite it off.”

The man chuckled, and his chest shook against Arkin. “ _So you do wanna suck my cock? What are you, a_ _**faggot**_?” 

Arkin tried to snap his head to the side, wanting to slam into the man, but the blow only ended up hurting himself. The man had gone forward, and his forehead had slammed against Arkin’s jaw, causing it to snap his teeth together in the worst way possible. He quickly turned away, tucking his jaw against his far shoulder. His jaw was pounding with pain, each beat of his heart felt clearly and agonisingly across his jaw. “Fuuuuh,” he breathed out, trying his best not to touch his molars together.

The man had let go of his arm, instead firmly grabbing his jaw and turning him back, mouth pressed against his ear. “ _Uh-uh_ ,”  he murmured, biting on his lob, causing Arkin to let out a half-cry, cutting it off partway.

His head was swimming. Why was he a fucking idiot? Then, the man released him entirely, his ear slightly slick along the edge of where he was bitten. The man circled back in front of him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to glare. “ _How disappointing_ ,” the masked man whispered, but he was smiling. Arkin didn’t like this in the slightest.

“ _I guess I’ll have to make you tell me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, let me know how you feel about the Collector starting to get more aggressive in him...feelings.:)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quicker update! Not super long, but I’m excited for the next chapter! Also, it’s important to remember; Arkin is a victim of sexual assault right now, and he hasn’t had the ability to get away from his attacker, so he’s getting a bit more fragile.

Arkin was bristling, feet pulled up. He didn’t want any part of this, and he would fight before he willingly told this fucking psycho his plans. “Stay the fuc’ away fro’ me,” he slurred out, jaw still aching.

The man took one step toward him, and he scuttled off the bed, doing his best to keep him away. Then, the man took another step closer. He tugged at his arms, but it was clear he wasn’t getting out of the cuffs anytime soon. The man raised a hand, offering it to Arkin. He took another step back, closer to the edge of the cage, and the Collector mirrored the action, dropping the slow act. He had been drawing it out, making sure Arkin was properly immersed in all of this. Now, though, he seemed to be getting impatient.  _ I don’t wanna get fucked. _

The man took another step closer, then waved his hand, firmly offering it to Arkin again. Arkin shook his head, but he was feeling the panic of this all set in. This wasn’t the Chase household. This wasn’t the outside world. This wasn’t even prison. This was Hell, one the masked man had created, and he should really take his hand, but he could be attacked all the easier if he did. He couldn’t trust this man to not hurt him! Arkin took two short steps backward, and he felt the cool hard metal against one of his hands. He entangled his fingers in the small bars, shivering and shaking as the man approached. This was fucking Hell.

.....

The Collector was almost disappointed in Arkin. The man knew he would be more harshly punished if he didn’t listen, but he was fighting back like a wounded animal.  He might as well be one,  the masked man reasoned, but he couldn’t let Arkin disobey him. He needed to teach the man what was expected and what was unacceptable. He was five steps away from the man, and as he took another step closer, Arkin slid back further, slamming his bicep against the far edge of the next wall, effectively trapping himself in the corner. He was sure there was pure terror in Arkin’s eyes, but the man had put on a brave face.

_I can’t wait to bend him to my will. That fear will slowly crush him, and once I’ve broken him, I’ll build him back up_.  The Collector cut the chase short, rushing the man and grabbing his upper arms, slamming him harder into the cage wall. The man’s eyes had snapped so wide, he could see a ring of sclera around his pupils, and his mouth had dropped open ever so slightly. The masked man felt almost hungry; he had never seen such an unguarded look of terror on the man’s face, and seeing him being honest made him want to see if cuts and pain would deepen that fear. 

He forced the man to his knees, and he seemed to lose it; Arkin was writhing, twisting and turning, biting down hard on the Collector’s arm, kicking his legs around. The Collector released him, shock and pain having him shove hard against the man. Arkin fell onto his side, stuck and unable to do more than kick and push himself onto his chest, trying to rise back onto his feet. The Collector was angry. He was beyond angry. He grabbed the back of Arkin’s shirt, slamming him down and covering him with his own body. Arkin was fighting for freedom, but the masked man just locked their legs together. Their bodies were pressed together, and the Collector thought about what it would be like; forcing the man’s pants down and taking him like this, row and rough and painful for Arkin. It was honestly tempting.

Then, he thought of the man’s face after eating, being so relaxed and guarded in his presence. He wanted that pain, but he wanted Arkin to give in to him. He wanted him to  need  him. It always came back to that. So, instead of taking the last of what made Arkin had, absolutely destroying him, he dragged him up, then stood, dragging the struggling and fighting man to the edge of his cage, slamming him against it. “ _**Arkin**_ ,”  he hissed. “ _ You  will  tell me how you got those cuts, even if it takes forever. And if you keep fighting, we’ll have to bring others into the equation. I’m leaving tonight, but you  will  tell me next time we talk, or your new friend will die very slowly and painfully.” _

Arkin had frozen, pressed as far away from the masked man as he could, but he could still feel the racing heart rate. “What do you-“

The Collector released him, and he caught himself on his shoulder, gasping and heaving. Then, the masked man smirked, pulling something out of his pocket. It was the ace in the hole, and he now knew exactly what Arkin was doing at the Chase house. When he turned and saw it, Arkin’s face dropped, pale with terror. In his hand, the Collector held the large ruby, and he was waving it lazily back and forth. “Wait, please-“

The Collector quickly pocketed the ruby and approached Arkin briskly, slamming him back against the cage and pressing their mouths together, moving sensually against him. He had Arkin by the hips, holding him firmly as he tasted his captive, rubbing his tongue all along the roof of his mouth and teeth. When he pulled back, it had only been a few seconds, but the man looked flustered and confused, gasping. _“_ _ If you want to keep your family safe, you need to learn to obey me.” _

Then, he grabbed Arkin’s shoulders, leading him to the bed, pushing him down onto it. “LEAVE THEM ALONE! They haven’t done anything!” Arkin was getting desperate, he could tell. It was easy to see he wanted to direct all the attention and anger at himself, protect those around him, and he had fallen for it enough times. He was going to teach Arkin that his attention was a gift, and he would earn it with good behavior. If he kept up this loud fighting, well, he would see quite a few people taking the hit for him.

The Collector shushed Arkin softly, waggling a finger at him with one hand as he reached for another pair of handcuffs and a gag. He wasn’t changing his plans tonight, not even for Arkin.

.....

Arkin’s head was fuzzy with confusion and pain and fear, but he knew for sure that his family was suddenly far too involved in all of this. “They’re innocent! Leave them alone, I-“

He coughed as the dry, bland texture of some cloth was forced into his mouth, tossing around his head and trying to push it out with his tongue, flinching and yelping as his aching jaw was repeatedly touched and snapped against. Then, a thin, firm cord of some type was pressed between his lips, catching above his ears, knotting against the small indent of his head just above the nape of his neck. He squirmed and struggled, catching the masked man in the stomach with his knee at one point,but it only earned him a painful smack across the face. It was then he was forced back toward the headboard, arms pressed against it, and he heard the jingling ofmetal against itself.

The snap of a cuff startled him, but more so because he hadn’t felt it against his wrist or arms. What-

The cuffs around his wrists tugged backward, and he heard a second snap, this time against what had to be the metal headboard. He pulled at his arms, but they were held fast, only a few inches of give letting him move at all. He was locked in. The Collector moved off of him at this point, and stepped away, studying him with a smile.  _ Smug fucking bastard. _

“ _Be good_ ,”  He taunted, then pulled a metal ladder  from the ceiling.

If I can get up there, if I can get that ladder-

“ _And Arkin_?”  He was snapped out of his thoughts by the killer, calling out to him.

“ _Don’t even think about it_.”

And the loud sound of a lock clicking shot down Arkin’s hope, the lights turned off as he was left alone.  _That motherfucker_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are excited for the next chapter! Time for some OCs to come into the picture. I’m gonna be honest, I hate when OCs take over a story, and these most certainly are gonna die painful, awful deaths. Hope you’re ready for some unhinged Abby.;)
> 
> EDIT:  
> So, I realised after posting that I should let you all know; the next chapter is going to be different. It’ll be the story of a separate set of victims, and Arkin will only be mentioned; these characters aren’t really the most important, and, per the norm, most of them will die. The next chapter is really more for people who like the concept of more people being tortured, and isn’t the most necessary to the full story, and will be super long. So just look out for that.


	12. Chapter 12 Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so getting this whole part out has been soooo difficult! I believe that I’ve spent like 10 hours writing this chapter, and it still isn’t finished, so you get part 1. The next part should be out soon. Also, no Arkin, very little Collector, and minor Abby. Still, hope you like this part.

The startling sight of a house burning and crumbling as firefighters desperately tried to put it out filled the large screen of their television, the scrolling letters underneath it explaining the situation; a terrorist of sorts had set off a bomb in the house, there were five casualties, and a man was missing. The fire-lit, wet and muddy grounds looked awful and tragic, completely unfitting for the bright, warm living room. As the scene jumped to a pretty news anchor talking about the terrifying events over the last few months, the television was turned off, a young man with black hair stood from the sofa, tossing the remote to the side. “There is NO. WAY. Mom and dad aren’t gonna let us go out. That happened 20 miles from here!”

“Shhhhh! Come on, you know if they hear, they’ll try to stop us!” A brown-haired girl, eyes a bright blue, waving at him furiously.

The black-haired boy, scowled, but sat back down, lowering his voice. “What do you want me to say, Andi? They. Won’t. Let us. LEAVE.”

“Come on, Davie, we’re not asking you to drive us or anything. Just don’t tell mom or dad,” a brown-haired boy leaned over, trying to give him big, wide eyes as he pouted.

“Josh, you’re not a little kid, stop trying to use your ugly face to get your way,” Davie said, and Josh flipped him off, glaring.

The distant clink of heels had all three kids rushing about, Josh hopping up and running into the kitchen while Andi and Davie turned back to the TV, quickly turning it back on and flipping to a different channel, searching before settling on a rerun of NCIS. As they both tried to look normal, pretending to know what was going on in the show, their father and mother stepped in, both dressed well. “Okay, kids, we’re heading out now. Keep the doors locked, dinner’s in the fridge, you can heat it up whenever you’re hungry,” mom said, leaning over and kissing both of her children on the cheeks.

“Thanks for coming to watch Andrea and Joshua,” dad said, smiling down at him, but Davie could see the shadows and creases of pain and stress along his eyes. He had known Michael Chase, one of the casualties. He hadn’t been doing well the last few days, but he was pulling himself together tonight.

“No problem, Dad,” he said, standing and hugging his father.

“Where’s Josh?” He turned to his mom, who looked a bit worried. 

“In the kitchen,” Andi said, quickly grabbing her hand. “Don’t worry, he’s here, we’re all here.”

“Okay. Thank you, sweetie,” she smiled, but it wasn’t as bright as usual. All of this seemed to be taking a huge toll on her, as well. “We, uh, we’ll be back by ten,” her mother continued, and she gently pulled her hand away. 

She walked over to her husband, reaching for his hand, and smiled up at him. Then, the two of them walked out. Josh ran to the window, quietly watching them leave, making sure they didn’t pause or turn around. After about thirty seconds, he turned back to them. “They’re gone!”

Andi was on her feet and moving to the stairs, running up them. Davie could only imagine they were trying to pull something, but he didn’t wanna try and fight them right now. Instead, he flipped back over to the news. What he was greeted with was disturbing; a woman crying and begging for someone to let her ex-husband go. The news anchor came back on, cutting the video short and stating that if anyone had seen this man, to please call the local sheriff’s office, the flat, blank face of a man somewhere in his late twenties plastered beside her. It then talked about the possible connection of this case to the numerous others in the general area, as well as what the police were doing about all of this.

He had stopped listening after a few minutes, thinking back to the sobbing woman. Why had she looked familiar? Did he know her? Why didn’t that guy look familiar, then? He was broken out of his thoughts as Andi got downstairs, dressed like she was going to a concert; she had on heeled boots, a slightly oversized shirt hanging off her and hanging over tight leather pants, a pair their parents didn’t even know she owned. “The fuck are you going?”

“Already told you, we’re going to the bowling alley tonight to get out there and talk about what happened. To Jill.”

Andi was stretching, that was for sure. Jill only lived there when her parents wanted to, and didn’t go to school with them, she just liked to bang random guys from town. More than that, most of the girls at Andi and Josh’s high school hated Jill. Davie may have graduated over a year earlier, but he still had friends there. Hell, two weeks earlier, he had been forced to listen to Andi drone on about how much of a whore Jill was, so he  knew  she hated the older girl. Still...

“Fine. But I’m going with you. Mom and dad would kill me if you guys died on my watch,” Davie said, half-sneering at his sister, but on the inside, he was shaken by all of this. Who the fuck would blow up a house with a family inside it? Two of the people that died had been kids, and her little sister could have died, too!

“Okay, well, Marcus is gonna be here any minute, so we’re leaving soon,” Andi said, way too excited to go remember a girl who got murdered. What the fuck was wrong with his siblings?

He went around the house, turning off big lights and the television, and carefully locking all the doors in the house, leaving the entryway light on. Then, it was just a matter of waiting. Marcus pulled up in seconds, and they were out of the door and into the car in moments. “Heyyy, it’s David! Didn’t think I’d see you, man!”

He leaned in for a kiss with Andi, who had taken shotgun for herself, and Davie rolled his eyes. “Just drive, Markie,” he teased, smiling genuinely. Him and Marcus had been close friends for a while, but he’d been off at college, and they’d lost touch for a bit. It was good to see him again.

The drive to the bowling alley took about ten minutes, and they listened to old cassette tapes of Bob Marley on the way over, singing along like dipshits. The road was pretty empty for a Friday a few weeks before school started back up again, and it was only five. The sun was still pretty high! It didn’t matter: no one wanted to chance getting targeted. By the time they had gotten to the alleys, they had only seen a total of six cars, and the parking lot was mostly empty. They got out and were headed in when something made Davie stop, looking around. Nothing seemed wrong or out of the ordinary, but a chill had inexplicably ran up his spine, making him feel almost,  almost  like someone was watching him. Then, Marcus slung an arm around his neck. “Come one, David! Get on in there! When was the last time you went bowling?”

Davie shook off the strange feeling, trying to smile. “With you fuckers. Anyway, Marcus, you graduate yet? What are you, stupid? Need to get put in a special class?”

“Hey, you’re the one hanging out with someone two years younger than you, not my fault you’re a pedo.”

“Marcus!” On said-boy’s other side, Andi smacked his arm. “What? He hangs out with us, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, then I guess in half-a-year, you’ll be a pedo, too?” They were inside the familiar bowling alley, and Davie found himself relaxing immensely. He used to come here all the time as a senior. He missed the tacky place.

The group pushed the door open, laughing and pushing each other playfully. They didn’t even go up to the kid working on staff, instead heading over to the large(and only) group, already bowling and laughing. The shouts of excitement were familiar, the faces were familiar, the stupid insults and jokes were familiar. He was home again, that was for sure. He saw Janelle, standing with her sister Alexis, Tristan with his girlfriend, and three kids he didn’t really know, assuming they knew some of the other kids. They were all talking, just mingling around, and suddenly, a bowling ball was put in his hands, Marcus smirking. “Whoever gets less strikes buys the other dinner?”

Davie smiles, and all that fear, that worry for his family, all of it fell away, even just for a moment. “You’re on.”

.....

Two hours later, Davie was buying Marcus a hotdog. He had definitely fallen out of practise, and it had showed. It didn’t stop him from arguing with Marcus about who really won, not that he cared. He bought Marcus’ food, and Marcus bought Andi’s food, so it really wasn’t that big a deal. The entire group has walked over to the food court, the cook just on the other side of the counter chatting with them. A few minutes into the conversation, Janelle piped up. “Hey, Yardie, where’s Lisa? I haven’t seen her in a while, I wanted to talk to her.”

“Man, ain’t you heard? Lisa’s ex went missing trying to bail her outta her mess with the loan sharks. Maybe they offed him or some shit,” the man said, leaning against the counter.

“What? When was this?”

“You hear about that house that blew up? It was that night. Something about his ambulance getting ran off the road.”

“Wait, is he that dude they’re looking for right now...Arkin? That sound familiar?” Davie spoke up, eyes wide. Could that woman have been Lisa? Is that how he recognised her?

“Yeah, him. Nice guy, worked really hard to bail her out, her problems just caught up with him.”

David’s comfortable high was starting to drop, and he wasn’t as keen on staying anymore. “Look, me, Andi and-“

Before he could keep going, the doors slammed open, and in walked trouble. Trevor-Fucking-Harling, the one person Davie hated most in this fucking world. At his side, Andi’s best friend Jessie strut in, pretending she wasn’t limping for some reason, not that Davie had any question as to why. “Look who finally decided to show,” Andi accused, and Trevor shrugged. “We were busy.”

The kids all laughed and joked, pushing each other’s shoulders and making kissy-faces. “You should keep it in your pants, Trevor, or else Jessie won’t be able to walk anymore!”

Jessie’s face was red, but she laughed it off, sitting with Trevor, who has zeroed in on Davie. Perfect. “Well, look who’s back from Cali,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Didn’t think I’d see you’re face around here again.”

“Just came home to visit,” Davie replies smoothly, “And I think it’s about time we go.”

“Oh, but Davie-“ Josh started, and he glared. Josh shut up, but he glared back, pouting.

“You can’t leave just yet,  Davie,”  Trevor mocked him. “We’ve got one last game we’re playing before we go.”

“No thanks, I’ve already lost enough at bowling-“

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Trevor cut him off, smirking. “It isn’t bowling.”

Davie wanted to say no. He wanted to look at Marcus and tell him he was taking them home. But he wanted to punch Trevor so much more, and this was a challenge. “Fine. What sorta game is this?”

Trevor’s smirk grew, and he let out a sadistic chuckle. “You’ll see.”

.....

After getting the okay from Yardie, the teens all made their way to the back of the bowling alley, through a door to an employees only area. The rows of alleys were dark back here, most of them sealed and unused for the night, and faint lights showing enough of where they were to walk around the boxes and equipment in the back. It smelled musty and mildewy in the back, and looked almost like a faintly lit back stage at a theatre, just slimmer. Already, Davie was regretting this. “Trevor, what the fuck are we doing?”

“Keep your panties on! Just gonna find us the best place to set up.”

Davie didn’t like this at all. “You know what, if you don’t fucking tell me what we’re doing, I’m fucking gone. And so are Andi and Josh.”

Trevor stopped, ignoring him, pulling out a box and dusting it off. “Here’s perfect.”

“Trevor!” Davie was beyond irritated. True, he took on this prick’s challenge, but it wasn’t worth putting his siblings in danger.

“It’s just a board game, man! We’re gonna sit around this table and remember Jill, maybe ask her why she died, see if she’ll talk to us.”

Trevor was smirking again, and Davie didn’t like the way he was talking. Before he could punch the other teen, though, Josh bounced up in excitement. “Oh, it’s a ouija board!”

What? He looked over at Josh, following his excited gaze to Jessie, who had pulled the board out of her purse and was setting it up on the table. “No. No fucking way. We aren’t doing this, Trevor.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a pussy!Scared of a little game?” 

“I am NOT gonna play with you and pretend to talk to a girl who was murdered less than a week ago,” he spat back.

“So you don’t wanna try and solve this? Try and find out if she knows who did this?”

Davie turned away, headed back for the door. “I’m not staying for this. Marcus, keep an eye on my idiot siblings, will you?”

“Yeah, dude,” Marcus called back, but he sounded a bit uneasy.

He stormed out, refusing to glance back. If he had, it might have changed the events of that night. If he had looked back, maybe he could have stopped what was happening. He had so many options, and he chose to keep walking. He had made a grave mistake.

Because if he had turned back, he would have see the unsettling visage of a man he had just passed, eyes aglow with murderous intent. 

.....

The Collector smirked, watching the young man step out from the backroom. How delicious. He carefully began the set-up, delicate strings of wire crisscrossing every now and then on the floor. He then set himself down, watching the kids. He almost felt bad, really. The kids were clearly young and  very  dumb, and he knew all but one would have to die. It was too bad, really; all the young ones were stupid.

He followed the ridiculous antics of the leading boy, who seemed to be trying to spook the other children, and he was starting to get bored. Should he tease them, maybe play with them a bit before he went in for the kill? He liked that. His mind fluttered to Arkin for a moment, and felt that smirk soften a bit. While the man was exceptionally stubborn, he would come around, especially if one of these children would have to deal with the fallout of his disobedience. He shook away the thoughts, instead focusing on the idiot teenagers. Letting his eyes wander, he saw a nearby wrench. Perfect.

.....

The brightness of the bowling alley made Davie squint, and his anger flagged a bit. He should go back and grab his siblings and Marcus. They should go home. Still, he didn’t turn back around, deciding instead to walk over to the cafeteria counter. “Hey, Yardie, you got any more Dr.Pepper?”

Silence.

Davie leaned a bit further forward, not seeing the large knife above the counter, dangling only a few feet over him. He looks back and forth, and leans away, feeling a little uneasy. “Yardie, where the fuck are ya?”

He kept searching, moving toward their lane, ready to grab his siblings’ stuff and just wait outside. Then, he noticed something that made his heart beat a little faster. There was a shabby red trunk placed in the seating area of their lane, silent and a bit ominous. Before he could get any closer, though, he heard a sharp, piercing scream. **_Andi_**. He ran for the door, not stopping to check around. He just needed to get to his siblings.

.....

The circle of kids had gotten comfortable around the box, either kneeling or sitting with there legs folded. Marcus sat in the circle along with one of the 17-year-olds Josh didn’t know, some girl named Mali, as well as Trevor and Jessie. He thought Jessie was probably pretty fucking stupid, dating the creep that was Trevor. Josh had met him a few times, and he was glad he hadn’t met him more than that. He glanced at Andi, who was standing behind Marcus, and he found himself a little irritated. Why did she agree to this? She was supposed to be acting like a fucking adult! She was being petty about all of this; sure, she didn’t like Jill, but this was all sorts of messed up...

Then, he turned away, guilt thrumming in his stomach. He should have been more of an adult about this. He should have listened to Davie. So, as Trevor began setting up a story, he took a step back. “Jill was lost because of an awful person. They blew up her house with her inside, and who knows what they did before that? Jill, if you’re out there, tell us who did this?”

The words didn’t sit well with Josh, and he took another step back, then another. The board didn’t move at all. A few seconds passed, and just as Josh was about to turn and walk out, something happened. A loud clang shattered the silence from across the room, everyone looking up, jumping, a few girls yelping. “Hello?” Jessie called out, and Josh didn’t know whether he should punch her or run. 

He took a few more steps back, then he stumbled on something. Before he could even begin to catch himself, the hard, large shape of something slammed into him, and he went flying, head cracking against a wall. As his vision jumped and popped into darkness, he heard a scream. Then, he was out.

.....

Andi jumped when she heard the clank of metal on concrete. She moved back a bit, heart clenching sharply. “Hello?”

She glared at Jessie. God, was she retarded? What if it was a killer? What if they died just like Jill? God, why had they come out here? Trevor was on his feet now, Marcus following closely along with Mali’s boyfriend, Danny. Marcus looked unsure and uncomfortable with what they should do, but simply followed Trevor quietly. Andi wanted to sigh. She really liked Marcus, but he never took charge! She wished he actually fought her on things. Just like now, following behind Trevor and not doing anything to make his obvious feelings heard. She chewed on her lip a bit, pulling her dark brown hair to one side and clenching it in her hands.

Then, Trevor jumped back, a large knife falling and just missing him, tackling Marcus and Danny in his haste. The sound of something swishing behind her had her turning, and she watched Josh get hit by a box, his head cracking against the wall. Andi screamed, loud and hard, the sight of blood dripping down his face making her stomach flip. “JOSH!”

She ran toward him, and froze at the loud snap of metal on flesh, a girl screaming. It was Mali, and one of her feet was harshly mangled in a bear trap, blood splurting out. “AHHHhh,” she sobbed, clutching against the wall, trying not to move her aching heel. 

“Holy shit!” Danny shouted, dropping to his knees beside her, fumbling and trying to undo the sharp edges of the bear trap. “Don’t worry, Mali, we’ll get you out of here,” he get saying, repeatedly tugging at the teeth of the device to no avail.

Davie burst in, gasping as he jogged back toward them. He could see Josh laying against a wall, Andi at his side, a girl crying and screaming behind them as someone, one of the boys in their group, messed with her leg. “Andi!” He shouted out, sliding down and giving Josh a once over, immediately seeing blood running down his face and onto his shirt.

“Are you alright? Who did this?” Davie demanded, searching his sister for any wounds, none obvious to his eyes.

“I don’t know what happened! There was a noise, and then this box came down and hit Josh, and then Mali stepped on a-“

Andi was blubbering, half-hysterical, and Davie shushed her. He snapped his eyes up at the loud snap of metal, Mali screaming again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!”

Danny sounded absolutely devastated, and had pulled back, revealing the mangled injury that spanned across her heel, ankle, and the length of her shoe, blood flowing so quick, it was amazing she hadn’t passed out already. Davie felt his stomach twist, and he looked away. “Who the Hell would do this?” He said, lost in what was going on.

“We need to get him out of here, and get them to a hospital. Does anyone have a phone?” Marcus said, and Davie reaches in his pocket.

“Dammit. Mine is dead,” he hissed, putting it back into his pocket. 

“Mine is in my car,” Janelle said, reaching out a hand for Andi. “We need to go and get it. Marcus and Trevor will stay with Danny and help get Mali out.”

Davie scooped up Josh, him and Andi rushing behind the others, all running through the door to the alleys. However, they all freeze for a moment when they see the windows covered by a type of metal wall on the outside, the door chained and covered in boards. “What?” Janelle said, racing toward the door, not seeing the wire between a set of chairs and the counter, bulldozing into it, the sharp metal cutting through her clothes and skin, sending her flying and pitching toward the floor, face bashed against the hardwood, her nose beginning to bleed.

“AHHHHH!”

Alexis and the other two rushed to her side, Jessie going for the door on a different path while the two siblings carried their youngest brother to their bags, Andi pulling out her jacket to wrap his head with. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here, we’ll be okay,” Davie mumbled, half to Andi, half to himself.

“Davie, what is going on?” Andi begged, terrified. Jessie was back, pale and spooked. 

“The front door is locked. We can’t get out from there,” she said, fingers flitting around her thighs.

What? What was this? “Andi, I’m gonna go back to help. I want you to keep an eye on Josh.”

Andi looked up in terror as he stood, grabbing his pants. “Wait, Davie! Is this some terrible joke? Did a prank go to far?”

Davie felt anger swell in his chest. “This is not some fucking prank. If somebody did this and wants to call it a prank, they’re psycho.”

As he turned, Marcus ran out, face grave. “Davie, it Mali. She’s bleeding out. It hit an artery, and we can’t get it unhinged.”

“We can’t get out. The doors and windows are all blocked up,” he replied, and his face crinkled worse, ashen in worry.

“Stay here with the others. There’s something very wrong going on. I’m gonna go to the back and see what we can do,” Davie said, heading for the back door again. 

When he got to the back, he was surprised to notice Abby, a blonde girl who had been talking with Danny and Janelle, back there. He shouldn’t have, but he had assumed she would have come with him. Instead, she was hold up Mali on one side, both Trevor and Danny pulling at the metal jaw mangling her ankle below them. Trevor looked up, no longer looking amused by any of this. Instead, he looked pale and scared. This had to be pretty serious. “Is there anything we can do to help her?”

The words were out of his mouth and Trevor glared. “Don’t you think we’ve been fucking trying? Nothing’s working!”

“Just trying to help,” he replied, glancing over at Mali.

Her face was almost pure white, and her eyes were nearly closed. She looked awful, tears and sweat making her face clammy, and deep bags had made themselves known under her eyes. She was just barely holding on, and her still being awake was crazy. They needed to get her out NOW.

Davie crouched down, looking at the jaw of the bear trap, and he swallowed back bile. It was so mangled, he could clearly see the bones of her ankle, and some cracked bones stabbing out. FUCK. He leaned down, trying to help pull the teeth apart, fingers slipping on the hot blood pumping out. God, there was so much blood...

The soft squeak of Abby was their only warning, and Mali fell, her flesh tearing and warping agonisingly around the edges of the teeth, more bones snapping loudly. Abby had fallen as well, crumbling under Mali’s weight, and she had slipped on the pool of blood around them. “Oh my God!” Danny shouted, scrambling to pull her up, but she was completely limp.

“Come on! Come on, Mali! Can you hear me?” The shout was full of fear, trying to hoist her back up, and finally got Trevor and Davie helping hold her up.

“Where’s that damn ambulance!” Trevor shouted, and David’s stomach dropped.

“All the windows and doors are barred, we can’t get out, we couldn’t get to the car!” He called back, and Trevor shouted wordlessly.

“Why didn’t you break a window?”

IT’S BLOCKED BY A METAL COVER!”

“SHUT UP!” Danny stopped their argument, tears and blood all along his face.

“Davie. You mean we can’t get out? We can’t get Mali help?” The words were sad and exceptionally quiet.

“I’m sorry. We tried. _We_ _tried_.  We couldn’t get through,” he begged, blinking to hold back the tears of shame.

“So this is it? I couldn’t do anything to help her? I have to watch her die?” His words had slowly gotten huskier and more broken, and he sobbed, hugging Mali close to him. “ **MALI**!”

It was a nightmare. It was a horror movie. This wasn’t real life, this had to be some terrible joke! And as Danny cried over an unmoving Mali, Davie bowed his head. This was all just too much.


	13. Chapter 12 part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part 2! I’m so glad to be done with this, I loved killing these characters, but it was just such a task to finish up. I hope you’ve liked this part, cuz it’s out!

In the front, Andi was watching over Josh, Jessie and Marcus slamming against the front door, Jessie yelping and pulling back, grabbing her arm. A large cut was near her shoulder, bleeding sluggishly. “There was something sharp in there!” She said, going over to grab some napkins to press against her arm.

At the same time, Alexis was holding her own napkins to Janelle’s legs, the young woman also pinching her nose and tightly pressing tissues against it to stem the flow of blood. Tristan and his girlfriend were moving cautiously around the area, and were cautiously peering over the counter of the cafeteria. “Yardie? Hey Yardie, you back there?”

Tristan moved around the edge of the counter, holding up a hand for his girlfriend to stay put. He slowly walked around the counter, shuffling quietly. “Yardie?”

He reached the double doors to the back, cautiously pushing it open. The scent of something metallic filled his nose, and he glanced around, eyebrows scrunched. The kitchen was cool and silent. What...? His eyes dropped, and then popped out of his head as they fell on the still figure of a man splayed along the ground, blood drying around him. Oh ,God. The scent in the air was blood. Yardie was laid out along the ground, and long nails were pieces through multiple places on his body. It was bloody, but so clean, it couldn’t have just been a bad fall...where had the nails come from? Why was there a board in the kitchen covered in nails? Then, he saw his face, and he let out a gasping sigh. Yardie’s mouth was slit open from ear-to-ear, the skin loose and limp.

Oh, God. Oh, God. He backed out slowly, grabbing his girlfriend’s hand. “Tristan, what-“ she started, and the heavy slam of something behind them had him pulling the two behind the counter, covering her mouth and shushing her. Murderer. There was a murderer in the bowling alley.

.....

When Danny had finished crying, everyone worked together to carefully set Mali’s body down, bending her knee so as not to tear her ankle up anymore. They knew it was too late. She had gone cold within moments of passing out, and they hadn’t been able to hear her heartbeat. She was very clearly and heart-chillingly dead. Someone had set up a trap, and it had killed someone. This was disgusting! This was psychotic! But psychotic or not, this was happening. Davie stood, turning toward the door. “We have to get out of here somehow. We need to get the police here. Danny, we need to make whoever did this  pay.”

Danny nodded numbly, walking toward the door. He wasn’t looking where he was going, he wasn’t watching out for anything. So, the wire that caught him across the mouth was completely unseen. He spat and turned his face, reaching up a hand to grab the offending wire, the sharp metal having cut the edge of his lip. As he pulled it down, two clicks happened simultaneously, the loud swishing of air the only warning of something sinister. Two large boxes, nails sticking out, almost seeming to reach out toward Danny’s head. The boxes smashed together, catching his head between them, and the sickening sound of his head crunching and squishing as it lost its shape and caves filled the air. Blood exploded out, some spurting across Trevor’s shirt, his leather jacket slick with the dark liquid.

Trevor and Davie screamed, Abby collapsing and covering her eyes, gasping and whimpering at what had just happened. The body hung suspended between the nail-protruding boxes, what was left of his head looking like red cottage cheese. Davie turned, vomiting to the side of him and Trevor, unable to watch the remainder of his crushed skin and blood drip to the floor. He didn’t need to look at the bloody droppings to know that there was brain matter in there. Then, to his surprise, a hand grabbed his arm, causing him to flinch as he was dragged away from the two murdered teens and his own sick.

It was Trevor. He had grabbed Abby and him, pulling them all back to the door, making a careful swerve around the lightly swinging box that had hit Josh. There, the door! Trevor let them go, grabbed the handle, and tugged. Nothing. What? Trevor tugged again, then he pushed, released the handle, pulling and pushing again. Nothing. The handle clicked a few times, and it was clear that it wasn’t going all the way, only twisting halfway before clicking and refusing to move further. “No! Come on, come on!” Trevor shouted, and Davie stepped back, still feeling sick. 

The door was locked. It was just him, Trevor, and Abby, all still terrified by what they had just seen. Danny. Oh, God, Danny. Davie could see it, every time he blinked, the way his head had crunched in on itself like an eggshell as the two boxes slammed together. He hadn’t know the other boy before tonight, but now, it was like he had lost a friend of years; his name swirled in his head, and the nausea churned harder in his stomach. He pushed it down, wiping his mouth. They had to get out of here, they couldn’t just stay and cry. “Come on, we need to get out of here,” he said, and Trevor glared at him.

“Well, fucking how? You know  another  door back here?”

Davie gritted his teeth. He needed to deal with this, he needed to put this anger behind him for now. “Better to look than give up. I don’t know your plans, but I’m not gonna fucking die here. You can stay here, or we can look together. I’m not gonna force ya,” he said, headed down toward the openings of the lanes. 

After only a few steps, he was able to see a more steady light; it was coming from one of the alleys. One of the alleys was open to the back. “Hey, I found a way to the front!” He shouted back, waving for Abby and Trevor.

Trevor didn’t follow too quickly, but Abby ran right over, eyes scanning the floor beneath her, careful of her footing. The two made it over, no injuries, no damage, safe, and Davie led them forward, slowly checking it out. Everything looked fine. “Okay, Abby, you’re gonna go through first, then Trevor and I’ll follow,” Davie said, and Abby nodded. It was a little weird: he didn’t actually know Abby that well, she was quiet, shy, and pretty reserved. He wasn't sure exactly how they had met her, but somehow, Danny and Mali had taken a liking to her. "Are you doing okay, Abby?"

She jumped nodding. She hadn't said a single word to him, and he was a little unnerved by it, but he didn't let that stop him from helping her down into the aisle leading to the alley's opening. Then, he and Trevor jumped down behind her, following close. By the time they got there, she had already disappeared through the opening. Before they could follow, the last of the faint light vanished, the heavyslam puncturing The silence.

"Abby! Abby, can you hear me?" Davie was calling, him and Trevor rushing forward, pounding on a wall on metal.

"How the hell is this happening? Why is there a wall here!" Trevor was shouting beside him, the two finally stepping back.

Something about the shadows in the back and the low lights had him feeling jumpy. The boxes were all piled high, and he could swear he saw the crisscrossing edges of...was that wire, or was it an extremely large spider web? The two climbed back up, both searching for another way out." The only other door is in the very back." Trevor sneered, pointing back at the far side. "Behind the boiler. "

.....

Andi was leaning against Marcus’ legs, gently stroking Josh’s cheek, her tears slowly dripping onto her legs. She had thought this was going to be a great night, that she would have some fun after all of the awful days her family had been through. This was not what she had wanted. “I’m such a bitch,” she said, and Marcus softly shushed her. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t know this would happen.”

“But I should have thought about this, I should have been more careful,” she replied, turning her face into his thigh.

“We’ll get out of this. It’ll be okay,” Marcus promised.

It would have made her feel better, but a moment later, she was startled by the loud slam of metal against the wooden flooring. The group seemed to turn as one, all looking over to the alleys, and seeing Abby crawling out, staring back at the passage behind her. Andi jumped to her feet, running over to the girl. “Where’s my brother?! Where’s Davie?!”

Abby shook her head, moving to the side. “There was a door, and, and, it...slammed shut behind me. They’re on the other side.”

Andi froze, mouth parting in terror. “What?”

Abby kept backing away across the aisles, whimpering. “Please don’t yell at me. I didn’t mean for them to get separated from you. I didn’t want to tear you apart,” she whispered, arms curled against her chest.

Andi was just about to follow her when she saw it. A man. He was leaning out of one of the many alleys, slowly waiting for the petite girl to get closer. “Wait!” She screamed, hand raised, and Abby froze, but it was too late.

The man, wearing an all-black outfit, a terrifying mask across his face, lunges out, grabbing the girl, who barely squeaked, and he ran for the side door on the opposite end of the bowling alley. Andi was torn, looking between Abby and her brother, but she could clearly see Marcus sprinting for the man. Just before he reached them, though, Abby was slung to the side, and as Marcus goes to tackle him, the man pulled out two knives, slamming them into the lanky boy’s shoulders, then dragging the knives across his chest in an X formation.

Andi screamed, tears burning as they came faster, running to her fallen boyfriend as the man dragged Abby to the back, the door slamming behind them. She slid to her knees beside him, hands shaking as they hovered over him, trying to find something to do. “No! No! Marcus...”

The boy was shivering like a leaf, blood splashed around him, the edges of skin, fat and muscle all revealed in the cuts, and each heavy breath he took sounded watery. He coughed a few times, and blood splashed her face. She sobbed deeply, grabbing his hand, stroking his sweaty forehead. “Andi. I’m..sorry,” he hacked a few more times. “I...can’t...take you back...to your brother. Tell Davie...I missed him...”

Andi sobbed hard, pressing their foreheads together. “I really...loved you...Andi...”

His hand went slack, and he went completely limp, head tilting to the side. Andi’s heart clenched, her whole body feeling numb. Did this mean...? Was he...? No. No, that wasn’t right. Marcus couldn’t be dead. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.  This couldn’t be happening!

“ NOOOOOOO!”

.....

The sound of screams had the two boys running, Davie absolutely frantic. That had been his sister. The two had to cautiously jump over a few strings and duck a few wires, but they made it over pounding on the last alley’s wall. “ANDI! ANDI, ARE YOU THERE?!”

The sound of feet shuffling before finally hearing them get closer. “Davie? Davie, is Trevor okay?” It was Jessie, and he voice was full of tears.

“Jessie, where is Andi? Trevor’s fine!” 

“Andi’s okay, but-“ she broke off, sobbing hard. Josh? Was it Josh? No!

“What’s going on?” Davie shouts, Trevor chiming in. “Jess, babe, what happening? Did you guys find a way out?”

“There, there was a-a man,” Jessie sobbed. “And he grabbed Abby, so Marcus went to stop him.”

No. Please, no.

“He, he,” she stopped again, “he had these knives, and c-cut him up, and he, he-“

“Tell me what happened, dammit!” Davie shrieked, slamming against the door.

“Shut up! Can’t you hear she’s scared?!” Trevor shouted at him, and Davie snapped back.

“MY BEST FRIEND IS HURT!”

“He...died.”

The words were like glass in his veins. He let out a wounded cry, slamming against the wall, sobbing hard. Trevor flinched, blinking back tears of grief. “Jessie, babe, we can’t get out on the other side. The door’s locked, and...Danny and Mali are...gone. Whoever’s doing this wants us ALL dead.”

Then, he turned to Davie, the older boy on his knees, sobbing into the metal. “We need to go, David,” Trevor said, sounding surprisingly gentle in that moment. “We need to get over to that door. It’s just around that bend there-“

“Trevor!” Jessie burst in. “Please be careful! The man! He ran through a door! To the back!”

.....

Andi looked up, wiping at her face. “Jessie? Is that Davie?”

Jessie nodded, turning to look at her. “They’re trapped back there, with that monster,” she said, a few glassy tears clinging to her eyelashes.

A soft hand hesitantly touched Andi’s shoulder, and she turned, seeing a grave-faced Alexis. The girl looked between her and Marcus, opening and closing her mouth a few times before finally saying, “We need to stay together, and away from that door. You need to look out for your brother, and we need to focus on getting out of here.” 

She nodded, and they began the short trek back toward Josh and Janelle. And, about halfway there, the sound of barking and shouting filled the alley, muffled only by the thin wall between the back and the front of the bowling alley. “Davie!” Andi shouted, trying to turn back, but Alexis pushed her toward her brother. 

“I’ll go check on him. You and Jessie stay with your brother,” she pressed, walking back toward the last lane. “Davie? Trevor!”

She shouted at the wall, shuffling her feet. “Hello?”

.....

Davie nodded, letting the other boy help him back up. Trevor then led Davie around the corner quietly, the two ducking behind a small stack of cardboard boxes. This section seemed to be more for personal storage, and a small desk sat against one of the walls, a few framed pictures on it. In one of the pictures, a toddler little girl smiled at the camera, a man holding her. Davie blinked, recognising the man on television, just several years younger, less sad-eyed. The girl was about 2 or 3, and he looked around 20 or so. The two looked so happy.

So it HAD been Lisa on the television. He shivered, his stomach clenching and unclenching. He could still taste the bile on the back of his tongue. And he wondered; were they just unlucky? Targeted by some crazy? Or had Lisa and her debts finally caught up to her work, and they were going to be an example of what happens when you don’t pay up? He dropped that thought. It wouldn’t get them out of here. It wouldn’t bring back Mali or Danny, or...or Marcus. He worked his jaw, eyes tightly shut for a moment, working through the waves of pain that settled in his chest. He  had  to keep going, he had to!

He blinked away tears, leaning further around the boxes, seeing a looming shadow of a man on the wall. It was mirroring the man’s own movements, and they could hear the weak sobbing of a young man. Who...? Cautiously, Trevor led them further around the stack, and they caught sight of broad, dark shoulders. Davie could see a sliver of pale neck, some brown hair kissing the skin and peeking through the edges of the lacing on the back of his mask. “What the fuck...” Trevor breathed out, quiet as possible, and he agreed. Who was this guy?

The man spun around, and they farted back around the boxes, eyes wide. “Do you think he saw us?” Trevor whispered.

On the other side of the boxes, the masked man smirked. Two dirty rats, hiding in boxes amongst the other filthy little brats. If they wanted to hide from him and run, he would make them run. He would let these rats run and die amongst their boxes, since they liked them so much. So, on silent feet, he walked past the snivelling, whimpering boy he had been rigging up for the grand finale, and unhinged the door of the covered cage. “ _Go. Get the rats,_ ”  he murmured, releasing two dogs, one large Shepard, and one crazed, snarling Doberman.

They howled, their nails cracking against the concrete ground, and a deep curse filled the air, shuffling and pounding heavily making him grin wider.  _Run, rats, run_.

.....

The howling of dogs changed everything. Before, they had only worried about how they would get past the psycho man. Now, they had sharp canines and a powerful nose to contest with. “Fucking shit!” Trevor shouted, the two scrambling to their feet and racing back down toward the far side of the storage area, jumping over wires and rushing around boxes, finally getting past Mali and Danny, nearly slipping on some of the blood.

“How did we get to fucking DOGS?!” Davie shouted, and as they got closer to the end of the slim warehouse section, he found himself beginning to panic.

Where could they even go next? The clink of claws far too close and deep angry barking pushed him directly. Without a second thought, he lunged at one of the boxes, crawling up to the next one up, the top box shaking dangerously, but stay firmly in place. “Trevor, climb!”

Said boy was almost at the end of it all, and with one large stride, he jumped up onto one of the boxes, going to climb up to the next one. Then, a set of jaws clamped down around his ankle, and he cried out, losing his grip and slipping backas his leg gave way, and he fell. The dogs snarled and snapped at him, teeth and claws digging into his arms, shaking it back and forth roughly. “DAVID, RUN!” Trevor shouted. “KEEP JESS SAFE!”

Davie shook his head, horrified. “I’M NOT LEAVING!”

“GET YOUR PUSSY-ASS MOVING!” Trevor shouted back, kicking one of the dogs in the stomach. “GO!”

Davie hesitated, then leaped down, stumbling before catching himself, and running for the door. He had to get help, had to get them out...

Behind him, the dogs began to follow him again, and he sprinted with everything he had.  _Get help. Save them_ ,  he thought, pushing as hard as he could. He  had to!

.....

The screaming and crying was all that he could take. Tristan took his girlfriend by the hand, crawling away from the terror and pain, crawling for the kitchen. The door there was tightly shut, tied sharply closed, and Tristan slammed the door closed. “Come on, we need to find a knife to get through that door,” he shouted to her, searching around, careful of Yardie’s body and the long, spiky nails around it. He searched through each cabinet, every drawer, looking under the oil fryer and hot dog spinner. Nothing. No knifes, no scissors, no nothing. 

“No, no, no!” He shouted, turning back to the door, his girlfriend whimpering as tears spilled free from her eyes, staring at Yardie’s mutilated remains.

He ran to the door, slamming into it, trying to break the strong wire holding it closed, shoulder knocking into it again and again. “Come on! Help me!” He shouted,and together, the slammed against the door, finally snapping the heavy wire, triggering a simple trap.

Acid splashed down as they slammed into the doors, drenching their arms, shoulders and face in the thick liquid, sizzling their skin and flesh on impact. They both screamed, writhing and tearing at their flesh, chunks of the dissolving meat falling around them, tearing at their mouths and throats, Tristan tripping over Yardie’s body and falling onto a bed of nails, one slamming into his eye while the rest left shallow, minor piecings. Tristan’s girlfriend was not as lucky. She was still tugging and pulling at her mangled, destroyed flesh, her neck bleeding with many scratches and cuts, oozing with the mushy remains of dissolved skin. Alexis slammed the door open, gasping and gagging at the awful stench, slamming the door closed, stepping back. 

“Oh, God,” she gagged, turning back. There was so much wrong. She ran to Janelle, hugging her tightly, rubbing her face to try and forget what she had just seen. “Why is this happening?”

“Shhh, we’ll be okay, we need to stay together,” Janelle said. “Go and get Andi and Jessie. We need to stay away from that door.”

Alexis nodded, taking a few steadying breaths, then she headed over.  We can do this. We can survive this.

.....

As the barks got farther and more echoed, The Collector turned back to the boy in his grasp. He was a worker at this alley, and hadn’t done anything distinctly wrong, but he was just standing here and letting all these brats run around and do whatever they could want. So, cutting his stomach open and filling it with gunpowder and a small explosive seemed like a perfect way to make him pay. After all, that was why he was here. He had wanted to make that bitch pay, but she wasn’t here now.  ** That fucking, cock-sucking, Sow of a woman- **

He shook his head. No, he would deal with her later. He had just finished the wiring for the bomb, and he turned back to the door, Abby sitting next to it, hidden in the shade of a stack of boxes, well-hidden from the view of anyone not looking for her. He leaned down, stroking her cheek. “ _ You can come back out when it gets a bit quieter. We’ll be done soon.” _

Then, he stepped out of the door.

.....

The door beside her burst open, and Alexis couldn’t believe how stupid she was! The man had stepped back through the door, dragging out a knife, and he turned toward her, his strides long and fast. Before she could get much further, she was caught in by the wrist, and he pulled her close, less than a foot away from her.

She screamed, and a knife sliced along her neck, the man kicking her away as she grabbed at it. The blood was hot and thick, and she fell along the ground, legs kicking weakly, soft gagging sounds filling the room. Janelle let out a cry, eyes filling with tears, stumbling forward awkwardly, sobbing. “ALEXIS!”

Jessie and Andi jump to their feet, sobbing weakly. “Help me get to the bathroom with him,” Andi begged, grabbing her brother under the armpits and dragging him.

Jessie grabbed one side of his arms, and the two jogged to the grimy bathrooms, Jessie locking the door behind them, backing away. “Come on, come on, there has to be a way out, a window or something,” she half-shouted, shaking as she turned, looking for a way out. 

There! It was a window, surprisingly open and completely unblocked by anything. Jessie ran up, Andi moving after her with her brother on one side. “Come on, Andi, we can get out here!”

A loud bang slammed against the door, then another and another. “Hurry!” Jessie went to jump out, one hand reaching for the sill, and she screamed as a blade slammed down, cutting off up to her elbow on her left arm. She reeled back cupping her stub, swaying and falling as she sees the done and flabby flesh of her torn skin. 

Andi screamed in fear, trying to move away as far as she could, and the slams stopped, a moment of pure silence pieced by the soft sound of a key sliding in, the lock turning slowly, stopping at the sound of a click. And I sobbed. “Somebody...”

.....

Davie finally kicked down the door, gasping heavily. He could see Janelle stumbling down one of the alleys, face wet and terrified, but she was otherwise safe. “Help! He’s after Andi!” She shouted, pointing at the bathroom. He pulls hear screams. No, no, nononono-

He ran toward the bathroom, hearing the harsh bark of the dogs in the back, grabbing Janelle’s hand. “RUN!”

Janelle tries to keep up, tries to hobble on, tries so hard to keep going, but cries out as her legs spasm, drops of blood splashing the ground behind them, and she breaks free of his hold, falling and shrieking as the dogs jump at her, latching onto her arms, shaking her around, tearing the sinewy muscles and shattering the bones. “DAVIE! DAVIE, HELP ME!”

His chest heaves, and he looks around, searching for something, anything. There, a bowling ball! He grabs it, slamming it against one of the dogs’ skulls, knocking it away and accidentally causes it to tear her arm worse. The dog releases Janelle, but the other one simply tears a large chunk of flesh free, tossing it to the side and chomping down on the exposed bone. The other dog turns to him, snarling and jumping for his throat. He shoves the bowling ball into its mouth, braking teethe and bone, and he turns and runs, leaving Janelle screaming and begging behind him. He felt tears come to his eyes, running for the bathroom, now absolutely silent. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, the scream digging into his heart. “I’m sorry.”

.....

The door creaked open, and Andi’s head slowly trailed up. First onto his heavy boots, then dark pants, lean and close to the body. Her eyes looked up to his black shirt, the sleeves coming down to black, latex gloves, and finally stopping on his face, a dark, leathery mask, eyes glowing brightly with something inhuman. He and Andi stared at each other for a few moments, then the screams and harsh sounds of running and dogs had him closing the door. He slowly walked toward Andi, pulling out a knife. Andi adjusts Josh against her, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if she should drop him and run. Shame and self-hatred swirled in her gut at that thought, and she hugs him closer, face set determinedly.

The masked psycho tilted his head, seemingly intrigued by all of this, and he moved closer, tossing the knife from one hand to the other. “Don’t touch us,” Andi said, trying to sound intimidating, and failing. She only succeeded in making him chuckle nearly silently.  _**Shitshitshitshit**_ -

To her relief, the door slammed open, and there was Davie, a bit scraped and bruised, and he was determined. His face promised he would take care of them.  _ I’m sorry we didn’t listen, Davie. If we get out of this, we’ll be more careful. _

.....

  
Davie slammed through, staying low and tackling the man’s legs. The man was sent stumbling back, Andi jumping forward to kick the knife away while Davie hoisted his younger brother into his arms. The three siblings get through the bathroom door, running out, and the dogs are there, turning and barking at him, blood along their mouths, Janelle a bloody, fleshy mess of exposed bone and organs, face and throat torn and scratched beyond recognition. He clumsily handed Josh to Andi, ready to take the dogs on. It was difficult enough to get back to his siblings, he couldn’t let anything happen to them.

The first one leaps at him, and he grabs at its collar, jerking it around and tilting its throat toward the second one. The other dog latched onto the first, blood spewing out from its neck. He tossed both away, kicking the other one in the nose repeatedly, feeling the soft flesh grow weaker and weaker before giving way, the dog’s skull collapsing in, both slain. As he turned, he could see the masked man watching him, having left the restroom and simply studying his technique.

“Just let us go. We won’t say anything, please. Please, we need to go, Josh is barely 15.” Davie’s plea was desperate. 

The man waggled his finger, smirking viciously and showing off his knife, approaching Andi and Josh. “No, STAY AWAY FROM THEM!”

He tried to run forward, but the man launched the knife at him, catching him in the shoulder, and he shouted, trying to pull the knife out. He couldn’t let them die, he had to save them! He stumbled toward his sister, getting into a run at the man, going to punch him. The man didn’t even flinch, grabbing his arm and retaliating with his own, catching him hard in the solar plexus before reaching for the knife, dragging it out and tossing him to the side.

The masked man then turned to Andi and Josh, Andi dropping him and standing between them. “DON’T HURT HIM!” She shouted, arms spread wide. The man smirked wider, adjusting his hold on the knife before slamming it into the girl’s torso.

.....

No.  **NO**. He was supposed to look out for them, keep them safe! He was supposed to have taken care of his siblings, and instead...his sister let out a sob, holding on to the arm that had imbedded a knife in her chest, blood dripping down onto the ground. Then, she let out a few coughs, and blood splattered down onto the ground, splattering on her shoes and the masked man’s arm. Davie was reaching out trying to grab at his sister, and the man pulled the knife out, pushing her back toward him. The amount of blood splashing the ground was making him feel sick, but he held his sister as she cried, trying to grasp his arm or hand for support. She was shaking so badly, she couldn’t hold onto him.

He was crying, his tears dripping down onto her face, and she let out a few thick sobs. “I don’t wanna die, Davie. It hurts,” she sobbed, squirming and shaking and trying to gasp for air. Then, all at once, she went still eyes staring up blankly, breath catching and never coming back out, shaking body going still far too quickly. No. It couldn’t be. They’d been arguing only a few minutes earlier. He let out a scream, terror and panic fielding him as he glanced around, the bodies of his friends mangled and devastated around him. He was covered in blood, so much blood, why-

_Thunk_.

Pain exploded at the back of his head, something hard having slammed into it. He fell, slumping over his sister, no time to struggle against the ensuing darkness as it came over him, to worry what would happen to him or his parents. He was out. Behind him, Abby stood, a large board in her hand. It had cracked on the boy’s head and she tossed it to the side, uncaring of the carnage around her. The Collector chuckled, shaking his head. Foolish children, trying to play with things they had no right to. At least one was smart enough to try to leave before Hell broke loose, he would give this brat that. He had an instinct, and it had reminded him of Arkin. **THAT** was the reason he survived; the rest of these morons deserved to die. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He glanced over at the boy, his breathing short and wheezing.

He almost felt bad for the boy. He was exceptionally young, but he couldn’t avoid his fate. He would die here, and his suffering would be over. With little remorse, he lifted the unconscious young man, kicking his sister away as her body weighted down his legs. Then, he dragged him to the red trunk, opening it and fitting him inside latching it. He smiled at a blood-splattered Abby, petting her head, and as he dragged the trunk away, they heard the youngest boy stirring, whimpering and whining for his mother. “ _ Abby. Go help him.” _

Unsheathing her knife, Abby walked over smiling softly. “Shh,” she said, “It won’t hurt in just a second.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter; letting Arkin know what happened, and the Collector being possessive and overly touchy. I’ve been imagining the next part since I had this idea for the last chapters.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Time for some non-con, along with a very over possessive Collector! Hope you like!

Arkin awoke to the slam of a door, and the harsh scraping of what sounded like the trunk against the ground. His back ached and he had to take a piss, but he found his mind was clearer overall. He tried to shout out, get someone’s attention, but only made a few muffled sounds, struggling back and forth. Then, the cage around him began to lift, the mechanical whirring of machinery accompanying it. He blinked, face turning away, eyes squinting as brighter light flooded the area he was in. As he pried his eyelids back, he saw the Collector dragging in a red trunk.

He snarled and struggled, fighting to get free.  _Fuck you, you fucking psycho! Fuck you_! Only muffled curses were distinguishable in his angry tirade of sounds, but he kept it up. It was easier to be angry, easier to hold on to the pain and defiance like that. It was the cracks in that anger that frightened him, the bone-deep tiredness that grasped and clawed at his mind. He was fighting, wouldn’t stop fighting, but something in him wanted to. God, something wanted to lay down and die, and he knew if he let it, he would lose this battle. The loud clank of the cage catching and stopping had him glance around, and he took in all the space, and the freedom, just lurking past his fingers. 

The man dropped the trunk, the thud being echoed by a grunt of pain, and unlatched the lid,kicking it to the side. Out rolled a bruised and bloody young boy, and he scrambled away from the man, letting out a fearful shout. The masked man simply shushed him, softly lifting a finger to his lips. The boy was gasping, and had his back to Arkin, clearly having not seen him. “Why are you doing this,” the boy practically sobbed, shaking and grabbing one shoulder cradling it.

The man moved the finger from his lips, waggling it out toward the boy before letting his eyes raise and catch Arkin’s. Arkin remembered the man pinning him, the threat of what he could do still fresh in his mind. But he had the ruby, the symbol of all he would do for his family, the reason he had even broken into the house in the first place, and he just knew it meant the man had gone after his family. So who was this kid? And what did it mean? He glared back at the man, tugging on his cuffed hands again, and the boy jumped, leaping to the side, eyes wide and panicked as he looked between the two men. They didn’t even spare him a glance. 

The Collector walked right up to Arkin, and gave him an appreciative once-over, eyes lingering on his deeply bruised neck. The bruises had all gone a deep shade of purply-black, some bordering the edge of his collarbone have tinges of yellow. Past that, his eyes only found baggy cloth, protecting that pale, fragile skin. He shivered, wondering how much more durable the man would be after his recovery. He could take smacks and whipping...

The sound of feet stamping away had him sighing. The poor boy was never going to get away, he wasn’t Arkin. He gave the boy props for trying, though. He turned away from Arkin, who angrily shouted into his gag, tossing his head back and forth like a horse trying to free itself from the bit. Too bad the Collector was thorough. He turned and walked calmly after the boy, who was stuck at one of the many doors, fruitlessly trying to open it. “Come on, come on!” He cried out, and as he looked back, the masked man could see tears.  That’s right. Cry for me.

The boy fell back, eyes so wide and innocent, and he found himself getting excited. The boy was afraid, and properly so. He was young, scared, and his whole body was shying away. It was the ultimate submission. He grabbed the boy, dragging his along the ground as he shouted out, slapping and slipping against the concrete. “HELP ME!” He screamed, and the Collector rolled his eyes. God, he wasn’t even planning to do anything yet!

He dragged the squirmy boy over to where Arkin was cuffed to the headboard, pulling out a separate pair of handcuffs and catching one wrist in it, cuffing the other side to the foot of the bed frame. The boy pulled and tugged, fighting to be free, only succeeding in leaving angry red lines along his wrist and hand, the skin torn on the top layer. The masked man let him be, eyes locked with Arkin’s, slowly sauntering toward him. Arkin glared, face turned away slightly, prepared to deliver a kick. Instead, the man walked past him circling around to behind him. He struggled to get away, but the man tightly slammed him back, hands on both of his shoulders.

He flinched as lips met his ear, warm breath moistening the edge of his lobe. “ _Arkin._ _Where is your whore,_ ”  he breathed out, the other hand effectively pulling down the leather cord from his mouth.

Arkin coughed, spitting out the cloth in his mouth. “The fuck are you talking about,” he sneered, struggling to turn and look at the man, hissing in pain as his hair was grabbed and tightly clenched. 

“ _Where. Is. Your._ _Whore?_ ”  The words were barely more than vicious snarling, and he choked on his breath as the masked man’s free hand slid down and fondled his chest through the fabric of the shirt.

“What whore? I don’t have a whore!” He spat, and the man sighed, moving his hand down to grab one of his hips.

“ _ She wasn’t at the bowling alley. Tell me where she is, or she  and  your daughter are dead.” _

Arkin felt like he got punched in the stomach. He was at the bowling alley? Lisa’s bowling alley? Across from him, Davie was watching the two cautiously, and saw the way Arkin’s face dropped, pale and terrified. “What do you mean? Just what the fuck do you mean?!” He shouted, hissing and snarling, baring his teeth, glaring and fighting madly.

The masked man slammed him back, digging his fingers into his hip and pulling his head back hard. “ _You belong to me, Arkin. I won’t share you with that woman_ ,”  he breathed out, and Arkin let out a few deep breaths.

“Leave. Them. She’s my ex-wife, my daughter needs her. Please, leave them alone. You can do whatever you want to me, please,” Arkin said, and the words were so desperate, the masked man relaxed his fingers.

“ _You are mine,_ ”  he repeated, and he stood, releasing Arkin.

The clinking of the handcuffs signalled the tension against his hand loosening.He sighed, adjusting his sore hands behind him. Then, he was careening forward, legs twisting and aching as his butt flew up. He twisted, pressing up onto one of his shoulders, and was immediately pressed down, flailing as his legs were forced apart. Davie scurried back, hand yanking sharply. On the bed, the masked man had forced Arkin down, and was climbing on top of him.  _Oh, my fucking God_ ,  he thought,  _ he’s gonna fucking murder him! _

The Collector heldArkin down, pressing his clothed manhood against his ass. Arkin froze, panting and shivering in fear. “ _ That’s right, don’t move. Wouldn’t want me to get angry. I might hurt our guest here.” _

The words were cold and triumphant, and Arkin wanted to kick his teeth in, but he couldn’t let anyone else die. He couldn’t keep watching people die. “Do whatever the Hell you want. Just don’t hurt him.”

The Collector slowly got up, keeping a hold of his cuffed hands, helping him sit up along the edge of the bed. Then, the Collector pulled his face close to his clothed crotch.  _**Fuck**_.  The man smirked down at him, licking his lips, petting Arkin’s head a few times. Then, he pushed him back, tightly grasping his hair with one hand while the other stroked his penis through his pants. Arkin’s face twitched a few times, and he was almost certain he had seen absolute rage in the crease of his face. Perfect. He unzipped his pants, pulling his cock from his underwear, positioning it in front of Arkin’s face.

Arkin looked down at the cock in front of him, feeling his stomach twist. Slowly, he opened his mouth, only partially parting his lips. The man directed his prick to the half-open lips, rubbing the slit up and along them, seeming to take extra pleasure rubbing them in the corners, shivering whenever it brushed his teeth. “ _Wider, Arkin_ ,” the Collector crooned, pressing at his jaw.

He opened his mouth further, and he flinched at the slightly salty taste as the masked man pressed in. The swollen head sat between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, rubbing between the two varying textures. The taste wasn’t awful, it almost reminded him of licking sweat-addled skin, something he had done frequently with his own lips after a day of hard work, and vaguely similar to the taste of Lisa’s skin during their passionate love-making. However, the smell was all wrong. There was something dominant and thick in the scent, something musky and heavy, and the taste of pre-cum was ever so slightly bitter.

Then, Arkin gagged, choking on the masked man’s dick as it was shoved all the way back, attempting to slide into his throat. He pulled his head back, coughing and hacking, saliva lazily dangling between his chin and the Collector’s erect member. The man smirked, shivering a bit. Then, he forced Arkin to lift his head back up, pressing his dick back into his mouth. Arkin fought against the urge to turn away or, worse, to bite down. The sensation of the slick, hot flesh made him think of what a snail might feel like, just less sticky. He wanted to vomit at that thought, but refrained from anymore thoughts like that.

The man pressed too far a few more times, and each time, Arkin would hack and turn away. He never seemed angry, though, just amused each time. It had to have been over ten minutes later when the bound man began to feel desperate for this to end. He had been avoiding looking at the boy, but with the last deep thrust, he had turned and caught his eye. The boy’s face was pale, and he looked disgusted, immediately looking away from Arkin. It was humiliating, and he knew that had to be why the Collector chose to do it like this rather than making it fast and painful.

He thought he would be pulled back, and instead, he was pushed back further, struggling not to fall over and be anymore vulnerable in front of this man. The masked man got down, scooting up close and grabbing his jaw, leaning in close. “ _ We should enjoy this  together.” _

Arkin tried to pull back. He didn’t like whatever this fucker had in mind. Said-fucker did not stop, instead grabbing his thighs, pulling him closer, forcing him right up against his stomach, his slippery prick caught between the two of them. Then, he jolted as his own dick was grabbed through his pants. “The fuck-“

He tugged and tried to toss his shoulders back, but the man caught his mid-back, pressing them far too intimately close. The Collector slowly stroked his flaccid member, and he bared his teeth, legs trying to close around the masked man’s hand. “Move your fucking-“

He was slammed back, all too close to the terrified boy behind them, and the hand had pushed straight into his pants. He tried to use his legs to push away, but the man squeezed his dick hard, and he flinched, freezing on the spot. “ _Remember, you’re going to be good for me, or else I’ll end this kid, and your whore and little girl aren’t far behind_.”

The words were awful, and they reminded him of how dangerous this really was. This man was a mass murderer, and he would absolutely destroy anyone to get what he wanted. Shaking, he turned his head away, biting his lip. He hated this. The man took a moment, then pushed Arkin’s pants down a bit. Arkin’s cock was half-hard, and when his own member brushed his head, the paler man let out a rough pant. The Collector grabbed both of their dicks, pressing them together and stroking, and Arkin’s whole body jumped. “Fuck,” he whispered, and he looked disgusted, but his penis hardened with a few more strokes.

“ _That’s right. Feel me_ ,”  the masked man murmured directly into his ears, and Arkin’s chest heaved heavily, his dick twitching.

The Collector was fascinated by this, rubbing the two of them together quickly, finding his captive pressing into the touch. “ _That’s right Arkin, just listen to my voice. Feel that? That’s you getting off to my hand. That’s you liking what I’m doing to you.”_

“Stop...it...” he was barely able to force out, and his eyes watered, burning with unshed tears. NO! He wasn’t going to cry in front of this man again!

The man beneath his twisted away, refusing to look at him, biting his lower lip viciously. His face was almost red, and he could feel how excited he was. Both him and Arkin were leaking pre-cum, and he found himself shoving his hips back against Arkin and his own hand. Arkin let out a few strained sounds, all that he knew were cries of pleasure cut short, and he wondered exactly how he sounded when he fully let loose. Maybe when he finally decided to go all the way...

Him and Arkin were panting together, his hand vibrating between them. He was so close, and it was clear the paler man was even closer. With a few well-timed strokes, he leaned down and breathed directly into his ear. Arkin let out a long groan, and shoved his hips up, cumming, slicking up his hand, and the heat of it all had him releasing as well, silently pressing himself directly over Arkin, their mixed cum dripping along Arkin’s hips and stomach, staining his shirt with the heady scent of sex. “ _Mine,_ ”  the Collector declared, breathing into his ear. “ _You’re **mine**_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the Collector cleans up, and Arkin gets to talk to Davie.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back at it! Sorry about the wait, it’s been one of those months. Now, on to some Arkin time!

The smell of the room made Davie uncomfortable, and he felt disgust curling in his stomach. He didn’t know what this masked man’s deal was, but he had just watched him force himself onto another man, Lisa’s ex. It was awful. The sounds were awful. He tried to keep his eyes away, to give the poor man some privacy, but had found his eyes catching with the man’s at one point, shame and anger across the man’s drool-covered face. The masked man forcing him down had him closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see anymore. He didn’t like this.

The sounds that followed were almost worse. Wet sloshing, gasps, whispering and strained sounds of discomfort. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he glanced up, and wished he hadn’t. The masked man was in between the other man’s legs, pinning him down and rutting into his groin, the pinned man’s face turned away, red and filled with discomfort. He closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to see anymore. The final groans from both sides were low, nearly silent, but he still heard it. Then, he heard low whispering, vicious and husky. God, why? He sobbed into his arms, body shaking even as the masked man stood.

He stayed silent, shivering, able to keep mostly still as his sobs shook deep in his rib cage. The man zipped up his pants, turning to glance at the boy, curled up tightly into a ball, arms covering his eyes. A perfect, submissive little bug. Davie held his breath, just trying to hold in the deep sobs shaking his torso, and the man eventually turned away, a tiny click sounding off before the heavy sounds of machinery. Davie snapped his head up,turning it from one side to the other in a terrified fervour. Where was the sound coming from? Then, he saw it; a large cage, directly above them, slowly creaking down toward them.

It took roughly 15 seconds for it to completely descend, coming down with a deep thud, the ground shuttering for a moment. Then, he heard a click. He looked ahead, realising that during his surveying of the cage, the masked man had been moving, and had cinched the other man’s arms back against the head board. He didn’t linger his eyes long, seeing the man was still not decent, and felt his stomach turn at the semen pooled along his naval, having seen it was dripping into his belly button. Then, the masked man pulled down something long and wide, reaching from the top of the cage all the way to the ground.

A ladder. They were in a cage, and there was a ladder. They couldn’t get out. The man climbed up to the top, pulling it back up with him, and the light of the cage dimmed, leaving the two captives in shadows. 

FUCK.

.....

The Collector liked the sight of Arkin splayed out. He was thoroughly debauched, legs lying flat against the bed, one hanging off the edge at the knee. He has his face turned away, and was gasping ever so slightly. If his eyes had been open, Arkin probably would be glaring at him. For now, though, he stayed quiet, he stayed still, and he simply caught his breath, stomach trembling, the mixture of their cum cupped in the crevices of his hips and naval. Arkin looked perfect like this; forced down, trembling and drained by pleasure.  What a good boy,  he thought, petting his head gently, standing and adjusting his clothes again.

He glanced at the boy, seeing the way he shook, eyes firmly hidden in the crease of one arm. Now, what to do with this little insect? He contemplated dragging him back to the trunk, locked back up away from the escape artist that was Arkin. No, it would be fine as long as he chained Arkin to the headboard and lowered the cage. So, with a quick press of a button, the cage began his descent, and he moved back in toward Arkin, shuffling the man back up and chaining him there, half-propped up. Then, he leaned in and whispered for Arkin’s ears alone. “ I’ll be back. When I return, you’ll be cleaned up and fed, and given a chance to go to the bathroom. Be good, and I’ll let the boy live.”

Arkin’s eyelids twitched, but he simply nodded his head, jaw tensed. It was perfect, watching Arkin give in to his will, doing exactly what he should. He stepped back, pulling down the ladder. As he fit his boot into the rungs, stretching his legs one after the other, climbing up and through the top of the cage, bringing the ladder back up with him and firmly licking the top. He’d be back soon.

.....

It was roughly a minute into the gloomy silence that Arkin moved. He slowly opened his eyes, lids wavering as he pushed away his exhaustion. He could make out the hunched form of the boy, face pressed into his arm, curled up with his legs against his chest. He was clearly somewhere in his late teens, and he had dried splotches of blood all over him, the largest being centred around one shoulder. He couldn’t tell much else about this kid; light was rather faint, and all he could tell was that he had dark hair. Slowly, he adjusted his knees, wincing at the sticky semen, half-dried, sloshing slightly and spreading to clean skin. That motherfucker...

“Hey, kid,” he called out quietly, and the boy jumped, looking up. His face was young, and his eyes were wide. He had to be around 18; his face was still slightly smooth and curved, and there was no facial hair. 

“You okay? He hurt you?” The words felt stupid on his tongue, but he said them anyway, hoping that, for once, that fucker hadn’t hurt this kid.

The young man’s face crinkled, scrunching, pulling his mouth down into a tragic frown, eyes half-lidded, and he let out a sob. “What the Hell is going on,” he chuffed out, voice trembling. “Where’s Josh? Where’s Andi?”

Arkin bit his lip, looking away. He didn’t know who those two were, had never heard of them before, and swallowed. The masked man liked to take people, but he never took more than one. He didn’t let people go... “I don’t know. I can’t help with them.”

The young man sobbed into his arm, the loud sound making Arkin’s stomach twist. Poor kid. “You hurt anywhere? You gotta tell me, before he gets back,” he pressed, but the young man only sobbed harder.

Dammit,  he thought, tugging for a moment on his bound wrists. “Kid, like it or not, he’s gonna come back, and I need to know if you’re bleeding out.”

Just sobs. He was tired of tears, tired of fear and pain, he was tired of being here. He had no clue what this kid went through, but some masked fucker was getting sick pleasure from violating him, and he couldn’t let himself cry. The pain, the disgust, the anger, it was too much. “STOP YOUR FUCKING CRYING AND TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG!” He roared, shocking the young man from his bawling, eyes wide and shocked. “I can’t fucking save anyone else right now, but I can help you! Tell me what’s wrong, don’t just fucking cry!”

The boy blinked, mouth parted in shock. Then, his face changed, brows knitting and mouth pursed in disbelief. “You! You’re sitting here after getting off to some guy fucking you, and you wanna lecture ME? I just watched a man chop up my friends!”

Arkin tensed at the boy’s words, clenching his jaw. He wanted to shout back, but now, he knew something. He could work with this. He needed to calm himself back down. Everything would be fine, it would be fine... “He didn’t fuck me, kid. It ain’t about that. I almost got away. I GOT someone out. He wants me to fucking suffer. And you aren’t the only one who saw people die.”

The young man was panting, and it was obvious he wasn’t dealing with this well. “Calm down, tell me what fucking happened.” Then, something in his head clicked. “You were at the bowling alley, weren’t ya?”

The kid nodded, pressing his lips together until they made a thin line. “Keep it together kid. Tell me your name.”

“I’m David, David Manchester. Yeah, we were at the bowling alley, it was supposed to be a vigil or something for Jill.”

Arkin’s face creased in pain. Jill. God, he could still see her stuck to the wall, nails embedded deep. “Who was with you?” He said quietly. He had to know. Was Lisa really not there?

The boy looked up, and Arkin knew this was the hard question. “M-my brother, an’ my sister,” he whispered. “Friends, and some kids I never met before,” he continued. “That guy, he, he takes people. Why did he attack us? What did we do?”

Arkin knew. God, he KNEW. But he didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit out-loud that it had been his fault these kids died. How do you tell someone that their loved ones are dead because someone wanted to kill yours? He ignored the last question, pushing on. “Was there anyone else? At all?”

The kid seemed confused, then understanding filled his eyes, and an angry snark pulled his mouth open. “YOU! You’re the reason their dead! You and your stupid ex! What, was it debt collectors, trying to run from them? Huh? You’re the reason that guy was there!”

The words but deep. They hurt, it was true. But Arkin breathed through the guilt, closing his eyes against it, and continued on. “Was. There. Anyone. Else?”

“You’re fucking bitch wasn’t there,” David spat at him, and Arkin held in his defiant response, knowing the kid was justified in his rage. “Was there a little girl? She has black hair, ear piercings, about 9? Did you see a little girl?”

Across from him, The young man stopped, anger fizzling a bit. “What?”

Arkin’s stomach twisted. What if that masked fucker killed his baby, his Cindy? “Did you see a little girl?!” He shouted out, unable to hold back his worry.

“No! My brother was one of the youngest, and he was...he’s 14,” David said back hastily, anger flaring back up. “Almost everyone was younger than 18. They were kids. You’re the reason fucking kids died.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you don’t understand anything! You don’t know who this guy is, what he’s done...he went there because he wanted to kill Lisa, I don’t know why, but he wants her dead. God, and Cindy-“ he cut himself off. He wouldn’t let himself think about that.

“Who is this guy?” David asked, and all that anger must be draining, because he just leaned against his arms, letting out a few deep breaths.

“He’s a psychopath, that’s what. He goes around to people’s houses, cases them, and turns them into death traps. Don’t make him mad, don’t try and run if he lets you out. This place is his, he just wants to play a game. Leave all that to me. If I get out, I can bring back help.”

David looked back up at him. “What if you don’t make it out?”

Arkin swallowed. “Then no one is making it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters, be prepared! Got something juicy lined up soon, so look out for that! Also, Arkin trying to be good Dad presence, and Abby being creepy.:)


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! A short little prelude to some actual action! Arkin’s sorta grasping what he can barter with.;) Stay tuned!

Davie scoffed. “Bullshit. You a fucking criminal, why should I trust you?”

Arkin didn’t speak for a moment. The silence stretched between them, tense and uncomfortable. “Does it matter that I went to jail when I’m being tortured?”

Arkin’s voice was full of disbelief. He sounded so affronted, so hurt...Davie felt a bit uneasy. “Why should I trust you?”

Arkin lowered his head, a shadow blocking out the last of his features. “Kid, I don’t know what you know about convicts, but we got rules. We got promises. I don’t want anyone to get hurt anymore. You gotta trust me, or HE’S winning.”

Arkin didn’t like talking this much. He much preferred the quiet labor of fixing houses and unlatching doors to this heart-to-heart. But he needed this kid to trust him and listen; he needed him to be present. “You hurt anywhere, kid?”

The young man thought about it. Should he really trust this man? Why? All of this was his fault! He should have been a better father! Then, he thought back to what Yardie said. Lisa had gotten herself pretty deep in debt, and he came to her rescue. He should ask about how this guy targeted him, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened his mouth, and let his hesitant voice dribble out. “He...threw a knife in my shoulder. It hurts, but not too much. I’m just...tired, mostly.”

He watched Arkin nod, not responding. He waited, but the man said nothing more.  _So much for trusting him_... he thought, the bitter taste of betrayal on the back of his tongue.  _ God, if you can hear me, please. Please let them be okay. Please. _

.....

The sound of the door creaking a few minutes later broke the thick silence, and the cage began to groan and raise again. The masked man was back, one hand holding a washcloth, the other holding a chain. Arkin didn’t know or like what that could mean. The man placed the chain on the ground, circling it around itself before setting the cloth on that, turning his back to his two captives, headed for the red trunk. That couldn’t be good... He lifted the trunk, carrying it back over effortlessly. Davie whimpered, pressed firmly against the bed frame, curling in on himself. Arkin shushed him softly, trying to keep him from attracting the sinister man’s attention, but Davie couldn’t care less.

The trunk fell with a hollow thud when the man was close enough, leaning over and unlatching it. Then, he turned to fix his gaze on the cowering form that was Davie. When his eyes locked with the Collector’s he felt pure panic in his stomach. His eyes glowed. How the hell was that even possible? This man couldn’t be human! He was frozen as the man moved toward him, grabbing his free arm quickly. Davie started, legs finally slipping and skittering against the ground, but the masked man only pulled him closer, forcing him onto his stomach and twisting his arm painfully back. He had a wild moment of terror at the thought that the man would do what he did to Lisa’s ex, and he let out a long scream, hoping someone, any one, would hear-

He coughed as his face was harshly slammed against the ground, his nose cracking, and agony burned across the skin, the coppery scent of blood flowing free, the heavy taste on the very back of his tongue. He let out a pain-filled shouted, tear streaming hotly down his cheeks, blood gushing and and spraying across the ground. “Hey! Leave him alone! Dammit!”

He could hear the angry struggling of Lisa’s ex, and his shout sounded just as desperate to stop Davie’s pain. He wondered if the masked man would grind his face into the ground until it was unrecognisable. Instead, the man unclipped his hand, also situating in behind his back, cuffing it to his bare wrist. Then, he gasped as the man grabbed him around the torso, the air being crushed out of him as he was dragged up, the firmly slammed back-first down into the trunk, his elbows aching at the rough treatment and the weight tossed onto them. Then, his legs were folded up to his chest, and he had to tilt his head, spitting and hacking up the blood still flowing, the thick substance pooling down his throat and into his mouth. There was so much, god, he was choking!

Then, the lid closed, and he felt the heavy clinks of the trunk being relatched. He heard Lisa’s ex curse, the rattling of the chain, then absolute silence and darkness. His face pulsed with pain, his head hurt, but in that moment, he worried about the other man, the man he had called a criminal less than ten minutes earlier. Their captor was insane; he put people in cages and suitcases, and beat them for being scared. What would he do to the other man? Davie hadn’t seen how far the abuse went, but he was sure the masked man didn’t just take out his sexual frustrations on him. He pressed his shoulder up against his screaming nose, trying to stem the bleeding. God, he hoped the other man survived...

.....

When the Collector finally turned to look at him, Arkin had unfortunately smeared the half-dried semen up onto the edge of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. He had yanked and pulled to get free when he heard bone break, and he was now feeling even more grimy, the shirt pressed uncomfortably to a few of the still-sticky splashed of cum. “Fuck,” he hissed as the masked man’s eyes radiated with something dark and primal, and he slowly stepped forward, walking around the bed to retrieve the chain and rag. As he stepped closer, Arkin could see he was smirking, and he gritted his teeth, refusing to back down.

The wet cloth was a shock against his skin, cold and just damp enough to leave a dew-y residue. The stickiness was slowly but surely dealt with, and the entire area from his hips to his rib cage felt clean. He watched the man as he wiped the cloth back and forth, and was confused to find the man being careful of the long cut positioned just beneath his diaphragm, not dragging any of the cum onto it. It almost seemed... _nice_.

Arkin dropped that thought. This man wasn’t nice, he wasn’t caring, he was selfish, and that was all. This man wouldn’t care if it hurt someone else, he just wanted to make things easier for him; if Arkin got an infection, he would have to kill him and get a new plaything. The angry thoughts only spiralled him to forcing his eyes away, trying to keep his temper in check. Then, the man stepped away, and returned with the chain. Arkin pulled his legs up, glaring down the masked man. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to not rub his waistband painfully against his dick, only wincing as it settled awkwardly against his testicles. Even if it was painful, he would fight this-

His eyes flickered to the trunk, and that anger dissipated, swiftly turning to panic. If he fought, David would die. Whether the Collector was actually going to harm this kid more or not, he needed his shoulder and his nose taken care of, and that wasn’t just gonna happen. Arkin looked back over at the masked man, and he felt bile rise as he saw the look being given to him. The man approached him, and he realised one end of the chain had a metal clip on it. What was...?

The man wrapped the chain around his neck, his skin breaking into goosebumps at the chilly metal, and it clinched firmly to itself, tight to his throat. It was a leash. It was a fucking chain leash like he was some fucking animal! He wanted to spit up into the man’s face, mask and all, but he knew he couldn’t let himself fall to that. He could die. David could die. Hannah could die. Any number of people would die if he didn’t work harder to-God it was disgusting- please  him. The chain was tugged, and Arkin leaned forward, following the motion carefully. Then, one at a time, his hands were unchained, and he was directed to move further down, onto his stomach. He silently stayed still, biting his tongue and tensing as his ass was dragged up, raised like a whore.

The man leaned his mouth down, close to Arkin’s ear, and he whispered to him. _“_ _Arkin, be good for me. If you don’t, you’ll lose this new privilege_.”

And with one gloved hand, he adjusted Arkin’s prick, guiding it back beneath the waistband of his pants, firm and controlling. This was a show of power. It spoke of what he was to this man; an object that he took, and one he would punish to keep. His skin crawled at the touch, but he held still. He would fuck this man up some day, would make him suffer for all the things he did to Arkin and the Chase family. After a few moments of Arkin being fondled, the hand retracted itself, and he was tugged up, guided to his feet. He was exceptionally weak, and his legs could barely carry him, so the Collector grabbed one arm, throwing it around his neck, leading the way. Arkin hated this. This closeness, this inability to get away. The looks were worse than any he had ever received, and he had met plenty of criminals in prison that had no remorse for their actions.

As they stumbled out, Arkin looked back at the trunk, and his eyes caught on the slick pool of blood. His throat closed a little, and he knew what he had to do. Shit, he had to offer himself.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We’ve got a prelude to some steamy goodness!;) Now, I love a good sex scene, but I also love a good build-up. Hope you like it! The next chapter should be up soon!

The walk to the bathroom was short, but Arkin couldn’t unsee the blood and many, many traps in the short segment of hallway between the two places. He could practically taste copper it was so strong, and there was an underlying stench of rot that clung to his nose almost angrily. His breaths had gone shallow, and he was a bit light-headed when the door the the bathroom was opened. He was startled by how clean and sweet-scented the bathroom was, and he was settled on the ground for a moment as the Collector firmly locked the door. The click reminded him of exactly who he was alone with, and he stealer himself as the man leaned down, fingers wrapping around the edge of the chain, pressing against his throat, his other hand caressing his hip.

Don’t move, don’t move, you need to stay sti-His stomach jumped as the man breathed into his ear. “ _ You’ve been giving me looks,  _ **_Arkin_ ** ,” he breathed. “ _ What is it you want _ ?”

The words were condescending, but he refused to be angry. He needed to keep his cool. “What are you going to do to the kid?”

The Collector stilled his gentle touches, and his fingers tightened along his hip, squeezing bruisingly tight. Arkin hissed, and the man breathed into his ear. “ _ Why would you care, hmm? I can kill him, rip him apart, one limb at a time.” _

Arkin held in his desire to punch the man, to fight him and escape. Instead, he took a calming breath, preparing himself for what he was about to do. God, he was really going to do this. “I won’t fight you. You can fuck me, kill me, hell, tear me apart for all I care. Leave my family alone, and bandage up the kid. It’s my fault he’s here.”

The hand on his hip softened its grip, and the masked man pressed right up against his back. “ _ What are you saying,  _ **_Arkin_ ** _? Tell me properly. _ ”

Arkin felt his eye twitch, biting his lip. Then, he tilted his head to catch the man’s eyes, letting out a rough sigh at how close his face was. “Do whatever you want to me. I’ll participate however you want me to. But you’ll leave my family, the kid, and Hannah alone.”

The man smirked, pulling away, unclipping his makeshift chain leash. “ _ Go to the bathroom, then strip _ .”

.....

Arkin sat across from him on the toilet, avoiding looking at him as he relieved himself. While the Collector didn’t enjoy watching people defecate, but the clear shame the man felt from being watched fed something burning inside him, yearning to control every aspect of the other’s life. The man discreetly cleaned himself, standing and flushing the toilet. Then, clearly uncomfortable, he took off his shirt, tossing it down onto the ground, shimmying his pants down to his knees before pulling one leg at a time out, stepping away from his discarded clothes, his discarded protection. He stood there, naked, uneasy but holding his head up high. It was clear to the Collector this was a bit of that stupid defiance, Arkin somehow trying to prove he was still in control, that this wasn’t the Collector’s victory. Ignoring his captor’s petty show of disobeying, the masked man let his eyes rove over the naked skin, liking how the muscles moved beneath it, sliding smoothly, and causing delicious shapes to form.

He could see the many, many small cuts and scrapes had healed immensely, all now a deep, almost yellowed-brown, faded and properly scabbed over. The longer, deeper cuts finally seemed to be staying closed, though they still looked relatively pale and bloodless. He took into account which stitches needed to be removed along Arkin’s stomach, and he strode toward Arkin, grabbing his arm. “ _ Get in the tub _ ,” he ordered, leading his captor by one hand, forcibly pressing him down. “ _ Show me your back. _ ”

Arkin sat on his knees, bracing himself against the edge of the tub, and the masked man looked around the numerous stitches on his back, crisscrossing and puckering randomly. Many were healed, just a few remaining deep sections of torn flesh in the mid-stages of mending, and he slid his hand down to his belt, pulling out a pair of tiny, impossibly sharp scissors. “Stay still,” he murmured, reaching his hands out and carefully taking one of the thick threads between his fingers, snipping at it and pulling it out in two smooth motions. Arkin squirmed at the sensation, half-itchy, half-painful, but he stayed silent. The Collector wondered how long it would take to force him to make a sound?

He repeated the action again and again, the injured man twitching and jerking whenever he removed another thread until finally, he moved back, letting his eyes rove down toward Arkin’s ass. It wasn’t the thickest one he’d ever seen, but it was toned and muscled and clearly tight. The Collector licked his lips, popping them together and sliding his hand down to Arkin’s hip, squeezing and massaging the flesh. He moved his mouth to Arkin’s shoulder as the man jolted, sucking the skin until it bruised, and he could feel Arkin shake beneath him. For a moment, he felt sadistic pleasure that he had terrified the man, tilting his face to see the fear in his eyes, and felt an electric tingle run through him when he saw only burning anger.

The Collector shivered full body, heat pooling in his groin, and he pulled away, turning to the knobs for the water. He turned it on, the cold water shooting in quickly, traveling speedily across the floor of the tub, splashing against Arkin’s knees and shins. He hissed, bristling a bit at the cold, but he settled, turning to glare at the masked man. The man plugged up the tub, standing and looking back to Arkin, a wide smirk peeking through the mouth-hole of his mask. Arkin’s glare faltered, eyes widening as he watched the Collector pull off his shirt, revealing two faded cuts( _ you gave those to me,  _ the masked man thought _ , the only one who could hurt me _ .). He took his time, folding his shirt and setting it on the scarce counter. To his delight, Arkin was still watching him, eyes wide and following every move like a spooked animal.

Then, he moved his fingers up to his mask, undoing the tie, slowly loosening the laces. Arkin’s eyes kept jumping between his eyes and his arms, moving just slightly as they worked his mask open, and finally, he grabbed high on the back of the mask, pulling it off, revealing a strong jaw, light brown hair, and disturbing, glowing eyes. He had seen this man’s face before, and he was struck by just how normal, even attractive this man looked. He had a face that could easily make other’s trust him, and then get lost in the crowd. In this moment, though, Arkin would have picked him out of a stadium with the sharp recoil curling in his stomach at seeing his face again. “What...?”

He went stumbling to the end of the tub as the now unmasked man stepped closer, turning his whole body to keep a close eye on him. Then, calm and relaxed, cocky even, the Collector undid the button of his pants, slowly sliding down the zipper, showing off exactly how hard he was. Arkin glanced down, but he immediately locked his eyes back with the unmasked man’s as he shifted his weight, kicking up one leg on the edge of the tub, slowly undoing his heavy boot. Watching Arkin fidget and squirm was almost foreplay enough, but he wanted to savour this, watch every moment of this man’s fall. He licked his lip again, wondering just how salty Arkin’s skin would taste while riding him.  _ It’s almost too bad, _ the Collector thought to himself,  _ breaking him the hard way would have been tantalising. _

.....

Arkin had sat still the entire time the man had been untying his shoes, didn’t even flinch when he tossed them across the room, and only gritted his teeth as he peeled off his socks. Meanwhile, Arkin was seething, rage and shame sitting in his stomach, gnawing at it until it hurt. He was having sex with a man to save some kid he didn’t even know, and keep his family out of this. What the hell was wrong with him? Why had he offered this? Even just thinking that drew a dark voice out, murmuring in his head.  **You let them die. Jill, Michael, Victoria, all those kids at the bowling alley. Who else are you gonna let die?**

The thought made his throat close, and he pushed back that voice, the anger gone, replaced with only grief and self-loathing. He should have helped them, he left them to die...

He watched numbly as the man pulled off his pants and underwear, leaving him naked and prominently on displace to Arkin. He uncomfortably found his eyes drawn to the Collector’s cock, but his stomach only flipped and shuddered worse.  _ I don’t wanna do this. Fuck, I can’t do this! _

The man gestured for him to come closer, and he felt his stomach shudder, his muscles all shaking firmly. He pushed himself up, one hand at a time, and he sloshed water around, his legs and the edge of his ass all wet. He started as the man grabbed the back of one of his thighs, pressing them chest-to-chest as he licked and nipped along the bruised skin of his neck, licking the broken edges of skin from where he bit down just a couple days earlier. Arkin locked his knees, trembling and trying to stay calm, but he could feel the thick cock of his tormentor pressed just so against his lower stomach, far too close to his own. The man held him close for a few more moments as he marked up his damaged skin more, then released him, stepping slightly to the side. Arkin took a few deep breaths as the Collector shut off the water, Steeling himself for what would happen next.

Then, the Collector stepped close again, rubbing his hands up and down along his waist and hips, letting his fingers linger around his ass. Everywhere the man touched, Arkin felt cold, chilled by how truly naked he felt in front of this murderer. The hands trailed up, briefly brushing past his nipples and settling on his shoulders, urging him down to his knees. Arkin could imagine why, and it made him want to vomit. He locked his eyes on the strong, muscles thighs, not wanting to look at the dick that would be tickling his throat soon.  _ You can do this. This doesn’t make you any less of a man, _ Arkin reassured himself, but was confused as the man stepped into the tub behind him. What? He settled into the lukewarm water, grabbing Arkin and dragging him onto his lap, dick pressing along the other man’s woefully unprepared ass.

“ _ Be patient, _ **_Arkin,_ ** ” the man murmured into his ear almost sadistically. “ _ We’ll have plenty of time for fun after we get cleaned up _ .”


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for things to get a little spicy! Now, I will put a slight warning, this is rape, and those sensitive could be affected. I don’t really pull punches on rape, so beware! But I hope you enjoy! I like angsty smut.;)

The Collector liked the feeling of Arkin in his lap, trying to control his heavy breathing and rubbing against him with every shudder. He could imagine just pulling his cheeks apart and shoving right up and into the tiny hole there, but Arkin was being so good, and he wanted to reward him. He leaned over, grabbing a bottle of body wash from the side of the tub, opening it and sloshing a generous amount into his hand. Then, he trailed it to Arkin’s chest, letting it drip down his skin. Arkin tensed, sliding his ass deliciously along the Collector’s cock as he tried to flee the chilly soap, his captive pressed against his chest. He started the process of cleaning Arkin’s chest, dipping his hands into the water and causing soapy suds to form. He was gentle as he cleaned away the residue of sticky sweat from his clavicle before moving to clean his stomach. 

Sitting in the Collector’s lap, Arkin had his lips pressed tightly together, teeth ensuring he wouldn’t let out and gasps or otherwise humiliating sounds. The man’s hand was far too close to his dick for comfort, and the only way to stay properly balanced was to have his legs parted with his knees bent; if he tried to close them, he would only end up slipping and he would be even more at this psycho’s mercy! The hand had moved away from his stomach( to Arkin’s relief) and up to his shoulders, first cleaning one, then the other, then adding his other hand into the mix, lathering it along his chest before using both hands to clean his arms simultaneously. He massaged his biceps and seemed fully intent on tracing every cut and scar he could find, finally reaching his badly mangled hands. The Collector was careful as he set them on the edges of the tub, cautious not to wet the thick layers of gauze that wrapped up the worst of the damage. Then, he brought his hands back in, trailing down his back before settling at his hips.

The Collector breathed into his ear for a few seconds, not quite panting but still filled with some deep desire. “ **_Arkin,_ ** ” he whispered, “ _ wash me.” _

Arkin shakily went to move his hands when he felt a sharp smack against one hip. “ _ Not with your hands; with your body.” _

Arkin bit his tongue to stop a curse from escaping. Fuck, this was awful. How was he supposed to clean him, rub his chest against-

**OH.**

_ This motherfucker,  _ Arkin thought, gritting his teeth. That’s what he wanted, he wanted to humiliate him, and make him rub their dicks together while he cleaned him! He felt the snarl of hate break his weak attempt to appease the man, and he snapped his head back to glare at him. “Well, if I’m rubbing you down,” he spat at the smirking man, “you better pray I have enough soap on me to  _ clean  _ you.”

The man chuckled lowly, pressing against Arkin’s hips, directing him to move. He awkwardly shuffled onto his knees, being turned to settle along the unmasked man, his legs being forced up and around the man’s waist, locking the men far too close for Arkin. Then, the larger man settled his hands back onto Arkin’s hips, smirking and rubbing their cocks against each other almost teasingly. “ _ Get to it,”  _ the man said with a wicked smile. 

Arkin decided to take that anger, that swirling disgust and shame, and rock his hips forward, catching him and the man against each other, slamming their chest together in an almost painful way. And instead of smiling at the defiant display, the man sneered, pulling him back by his hips, adjusting his softening package with one hand, wincing. Arkin smirked. Seems like he caught something wrong on the Collector, not that he was too troubled about it. After a few seconds, he was shoved back, the man’s face twisting in pure anger, and Arkin cursed his stupid pride, knowing he could have just doomed everyone. He was slammed down into the water, blinking and tossing his head side-to-side to try and free himself from the tight grip of the man. He was glad that at least the water was shallow, otherwise he could be struggling to breathe, but he could see he had stopped being amusing the moment he put his captor’s dick on the line.

“ _ You stupid whore,”  _ he growled out, and Arkin bristled at the insult. He wasn’t a whore, he was a fucking man, and this was against his will!

“I’m not a fucking whore,” Arkin shot back, and some sadistic light seemed to blink on behind the Collector’s eyes.

He leaned down, completely covering Arkin, and he found himself very aware of how naked they both were, and how this man was in between his legs. “ **_Arkin,_ ** _ you don’t seem to get it. I own you. You made a deal with me. In exchange for sex, I won’t harm a handful of people. You’re going to fuck me because I have something of value to you. You are a whore now,” _ the Collector explained, grabbing his ass and letting his fingers pry inside, rubbing and prodding at his asshole.

Arkin yelped, jumping and squirming, still trying to get away in spite of his little offer. The Collector couldn’t help himself from leaning down further, tilting Arkin’s face to the side and taking in one wet earlobe, nibbling and sucking on it. “ _ You’re my own personal whore.” _

Beneath him, Arkin’s stomach was curling in on itself, and self-loathing settled there like a rock.  **Whore, whore, accept it,** the words echoed, and his breath hitched as one finger pressed past the soft outer muscles of his hole and against the tight ring. “W-wait,” he said, voice no longer controlled by anger. Now, fear crawled up his throat, escaping with the sad, desperate sound.

“ _ Too late,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ You gave yourself to me. If you had just behaved, I would have taken my time with you.”  _ The man left the rest unsaid, but Arkin understood; the Collector wouldn’t stop if he begged him to, wouldn’t slow down if he said it hurt. It would be hard and fast and sadistic, and it would be his first time being...being fucked.

He couldn’t help it; his eyes began to burn. He felt tears form, and he turned his head away, staring at the off-white porcelain of the tub.  **Your fault, your fault,** changed in his head, swirling as the Collector pushed his finger in deeper, sucking on his earlobe and even biting now. Then, he felt the heavy pressure of the Collector’s cock against his own.  _ No, no, no,  _ almost sobbed as the unmasked man to the liberty of stroking both together, unwillingly hardening his dick. He let out a choked sound as a second finger was forced inside, stretching it open far wider than it was supposed to. He held back a whimper, closing his eyes to hide the tears. It was awful. He had never once in his life had a sexual experience that left him feeling so...dirty. He felt like he had become some piece of trash, suffocating in rot, grimy and filthy. And with that, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Just as he had a few days prior, he let out a sob.

…..

The Collector had been angry when Arkin had caught his testicles between them. He had seen the little grin of delight at his pain, and it had snapped his patience in that moment. Forcing Arkin down had begun to smooth his ire, and a few smacks would have sufficed if he hadn’t seen the way Arkin reacted to being called a whore. He had reeled at the word, lips parting as he sneered, denying the claim. He liked that response. Having found a single moment of weakness, the Collector latched on, tearing at Arkin’s fragile emotions. He wanted it to hurt as much as possible, wanted to see Arkin hurt by his words. He also decided he was done with the foreplay. He had wanted the experience to be pleasurable for all involved, but Arkin had gone and ruined that, so instead of absolute pleasure, it would be pain.

It was as he had added his second finger that he noticed Arkin shaking. Then, with the spread of his fingers, he heard it, the sound he had been waiting for, listening for, craving: the high-pitch snuffling of air, a wounded sound accompanying it. He pulled back from Arkin’s earlobe to see his crumpled expression, eyes closed as thick tears flowed into the water of the tub. That was it, that was the last show of weakness he needed, that moment where Arkin was most vulnerable. He pulled out his fingers, pulling Arkin’s legs up higher, alerting the terrified man to what was coming next. 

The man sobbed again, bringing one hand to completely cover his mouth while the other held firmly onto the edge of the tub. Arkin was bracing for the pain.  _ Good boy.  _ The Collector lines up his cock, finally feeling the tip press against the still-tight hole. “ _ Look at me when I take away your everything,”  _ he commanded, but Arkin shook his head. The Collector scowled, taking back his praise. He was not a good boy.

The Collector pushed in just a little, and Arkin’s breath caught, his eyes flying open. The unmasked man leaned in close, locking eyes with him, then he shoved forward, getting about halfway in before he stopped. Arkin’s face had gone pale, and his eyes were wide and moist. He was shivering badly, legs working as his muscles tightened and relaxed. The Collector’s first thought was about how hot it was inside Arkin, then how tight it was. But best of all was the scared eyes, faint pallor and shivering. “ _ Feel that?”  _ He said, bucking his hips slightly to emphasise his point. Arkin didn’t react.

Growing impatient, the Collector grabbed Arkin’s hips and pulled him closer as he thrust in, seating himself fully within the shaking man. “ _ I’m inside you,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ No one wants you anymore, but I’ll keep you,”  _ he murmured, thrusting shallowly this time, pulling the hand away from the man’s mouth, using it to leverage himself as he began to move harder.

“ _ Congratulations on becoming my whore,  _ **_faggot.”_ **

…..

Arkin’s mind was a mess.  _ NO.  _ Someone couldn’t be inside him, this couldn’t be real. Then, the Collector shoved in further, and Arkin had to accept it; there was just no way something could hurt this much and not be real. Somewhere along the line, The unmasked man had begun to move( Arkin couldn’t remember, it all hurt), and he had been speaking to him. Arkin couldn’t stay focussed, though. Each thrust brought more shame, more disgust, more hate.

And then, with a few more thrusts, Arkin stopped feeling anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the Collectors finally gets to finish! And now, Arkin is a whole heck-ton more fragile! So, look out for some coercion smut in the next few chapters.:)


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! It is the return! Another sexy chapter! Again, this may possibly be triggering to some, but otherwise, enjoy!

The Collector had gotten more into the action of thrusting before he noticed how unresponsive Arkin was. He paused for a second, studying him. Arkin’s eyes were half-lidded, but he didn’t seem to blink or focus on anything, and all the fear that had been present only moments before was gone. He had a moment of panic, wondering whether or not Arkin had started bleeding again, but dropped that thought as he looked at the water. It was clear, and if he was bleeding, there would at least be some tinting. He leaned down, curiously adjusting Arkin’s face side-to-side, and he wondered if he had managed to break the man. The thought made his stomach turn a bit. Arkin had been difficult, he had been interesting, he’d been precious because he didn’t break, and now…

Instead of stopping, he grew rougher, slamming in with an intensity he hadn’t shown since he first caught Arkin. The discomfort of losing Arkin was now coloured with anger, and he found himself even more confused by it all. This should be a good thing! This was payback for all that arrogance, all that fight back at the house!  _ But without that fight... _ He stopped that thought. He didn’t want to do this without Arkin. He needed Arkin to be awake for this. He paused his thrusting, instead smacking him across the face, and to his relief, Arkin stirred, scrambling to get out of the water. He dragged the injured man closer, snarling as he thrust harder, and Arkin did the shocking, the unexpected, the infuriating. He punched the Collector across the face, eyes angry and hostile.  _ That’s the look.  _

He pulled out of Arkin, feeling a feral grin pull across his face, grabbing his upper arms and pulling him up as he tried to squirm and kick away, slipping in the shallow water and only splashing the man above him. “Let me fucking go!” Arkin shouted, pulling one of his arms free and going to scratch at the man’s face.

The Collector pulled his arm back and slapped him again, hard enough to momentarily get him to go for his aching cheek. Perfect. The Collector climbed onto Arkin’s hips, holding them down with his weight. Then, he grabbed Arkin’s hair, yanking and pushing him onto his side, face half under soapy water. Arkin whipped his head back and forth, sputtering and spitting out water. He scratched at the Collector’s hand, and the feral smile grew, even more crazed.  _ This is the  _ **_REAL_ ** _ Arkin! This is  _ **_my Arkin!_ ** He dug his nails into the skin of his shoulder, dragging his hand away and leaving ugly, raised scratches, red and some beginning to bleed in places. Arkin let out a shout, curling in toward himself, and the Collector grabbed his shoulder, pressing him down onto his stomach, giving him just enough space to fight for breath as he tried to push himself onto his elbows. Then, holding down his shoulders, the Collector slid himself slowly down Arkin’s tense and squirming ass, breathing heavily as his swollen prick dragged along the skin there.

At the sensation of the hot flesh against him, Arkin tried to turn back onto his front, and the Collector chuckled, freeing one leg. He latched onto the leg firmly, smacking Arkin’s ass and lifting the leg over his shoulder, revealing the furious man’s red, slightly bleeding hole. “ _ I see I wasn’t gentle enough,”  _ he murmured, licking his fingers firmly then shoving two inside.

“ _ It isn’t much, but enjoy it,”  _ he said sadistically, seeing the anger flash away as the pain entered, his pale skin covered in faint goosebumps.

He spent only a few seconds spreading the scarce saliva around the passage before repositioning himself, slowly entering this time. Arkin winced, trying to pull his leg away as the head stretched his sore hole, groaning at the size. “Fuckin’ Hell. Shit,” he cursed, reaching a hand up to grab onto one of the Collector’s. “Stop, stop! Just...just wait a minute,” the man forced out, leaning his head into the crook of the arm trapped beneath him, jaw shivering.

The Collector didn’t wait. Instead, he shimmied as close as possible, sliding in as far as he could, and began thrusting, holding him in place with his leg. Arkin let out a long, choked curse, trying to grab at something, anything, finally settling on grabbing his other arm, squeezing so tight the skin went pure white. The Collector was only focused on the emotion; he needed to see that anger and pain. The fear of losing that unpredictable spirit, then the sudden rush of relief at not losing that fight was making him near delirious, and he pushed arkin’s leg to the side, lunging for his torso, kissing and biting his shoulder, running his hands across Arkin’s stiff nipples and down to his cock.

Arkin shouted words, tried to pull his hand away, but nothing was working; the fear of losing what Arkin was had made the Collector crave the reassurance that Arkin would stay, would be present. Laving attention onto the point of his collarbone, he suckled on the skin, leaving a dark hickey behind. “ **_Mine,”_ ** he growled, liking the mark, and he continued down his chest. He needed to make sure anyone who had eyes would know Arkin was  **_his._ **

…..

Arkin had awoken in pain. His face hurt, his back hurt, his ass hurt, and there was water everywhere. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was some man leaning over him, hand raised and looking...afraid? Angry? Something between the two? He didn’t know, only that they filled with relief as he began squirming in their water, and began burning when he felt rage swirl in his stomach. A man was naked on him. He was  _ inside  _ him, Arkin could feel it. Some man had shoved his dick inside Arkin’s ass. He pulled his arm back, and as the man leaned forward, aimed for his jaw. Perfect hit. Akron’s hand ached, and he felt far too weak to throw even a strong slap, but the man didn’t seem fazed by the punch. He looked  _ delighted. _

Arkin reeled back as the man grinned at him. It was predatory, and Arkin was almost afraid the man would start tearing at his flesh, wanting to eat him. Instead, he gasped and floundered at the strange sensation of the man pulling out of him. The next few moments were a scramble to get away as the man tried to drag him up by his arms, then force him onto his stomach, face all too close to being submerged. He had been slapped, his arms were beginning to bruise at the harsh treatment, and he finally was forced down, spitting out water that splashed in his mouth.  _ Stop, stop-  _

Hot flesh. Sticky hot flesh slid down his back, and he clenched every muscle he could. It was that man’s dick. God, he had just been flipped over so he could fuck him easier! Arkin tried to pull his legs free so he could get away, but it was just too late; the man smacked his ass, Arkin snarling, then let one of his legs free, grabbing it as it kicked up and forcing him onto his side, showing the crazy man above him his ass and dick all at once. The man was hard and clearly very turned on, and it all hit Arkin again: the house, the deaths, the kid in a box that was bleeding. And most of all, he remembered  **the Deal.** He had chosen to give himself up to this man. He jumped and helped as two fingers were shoved in, opening him further and further, then disappearing just as quickly.

He tried to take a deep breath, but the man was already pushing in, and he was thankfully slower this time. It was no less painful, though. “Fuckin’ Hell! Shit,” he cursed, “stop, stop! Just...wait a minute…”

Like that would make the man slow. Instead, he began thrusting, making sure to go deep, the sensation almost crippling. Arkin could hardly breathe, taking hold of his arm and squeezing until the pain somehow grounded him. Everything hurt, everything hurt! “Shit-fuck-Christ-“ he nearly whined out, eyes slammed closed, anger twisting with pain. And with that, as if it was some magical words, the Collector dropped his leg to the side, slammed his hands down on either side of Arkin, and began kissing, licking, biting, rubbing, just anything he could do to touch Arkin’s skin. 

One hand moved down and grabbed his cock, and Arkin raged, scratching and pulling at the hand. “LET ME THE FUCK GO!” He shouted, but the man didn’t care, tightly holding the half-hard prick and stroking almost painfully. He left large groups of sticky areas along his skin, and had begun thrusting harder, adjusting his leg to between Arkin’s, pulling the man’s ass higher for a better angle, forcing him back onto his stomach. 

“Wait, stop!” Arkin cried out, forced to release the Collector’s hand to keep his mouth above water. Then, he let out a whine, his legs trembling as a thrust left him feeling far too cramped and tight. He almost wanted to ask the man to open him more, but he refused to give him that moment of weakness.

Then, Arkin twitched as the strokes on his dick grew gentler, going in time with the slap of skin-on-skin, and the pain slowly began to ebb away, turning into some faint form of pleasure. “Stop, stop,” he kept repeating, letting out a hiss as the man bit the nape of his neck, sucking hard.

Then, as if the man could sense Arkin’s rising pleasure, he began to go slower, rubbing in a way Arkin found both uncomfortable and pleasant. “Ahh,” he moaned out, biting his arm to hide the sound, humiliated by the fact he was enjoying this. It was only made worse when he felt the man chuckle against his skin, making him shiver.

The stroking was becoming unbearably good now, and the thrusts only seemed to be taking his breath away. Where had the real pain gone? Arkin was making sounds now, feeling sure he was just repeating the word fuck over and over again, and he could feel it; he wanted to cum. It didn’t make any sense, he came only an hour or so earlier, if even that, and now he wanted it so badly. He could feel the Collector speeding up his thrusts as well, and he had begun to lean into each thrust, meeting him and squeezing. Something about the squeeze made his legs feel like water, and he had quickly gotten the hang of it, almost grinding back on the man.

_ Please, just cum already,  _ Arkin almost begged out loud, not wanting to embarrass himself any further. He wanted this to be over, he didn’t want to get off on this! Then, the man let go of his dick, grabbed both his hips, and dragged him close, shoving I. As deep as he could when he finally came. Something hot and almost slimy filled his bowels, and he tensed, letting out a little whine, back arching and legs shaking. It...felt...God! He shook, letting his legs droop, face pressed into his arms.

_ Hold it together, hold it together,  _ Arkin tried to reason with himself, but he could feel the first whispers of orgasm crawling from that place the Collector’s dick was pressed against, and he was losing a battle with himself. Finally, disgust swirling in his stomach, he reached a hand down, and began stroking himself. He was too close, he  _ needed  _ release. So, with a few muffled curses and one fast-working hand, Arkin groaned, spiraling into his own orgasm, splattering into the water beneath them.

And for half a moment, Arkin forgot how much he hated himself for enjoying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: we’re gonna see the Collector holding up his part of the deal! And some Abby action! I hope you’re all enjoying this! Now, I hide back in my nest while I wait out Covid-19. Stay safe out there, people! Practice good hygiene!


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Hope you’re staying safe out there! Just a little short chapter, but next chapter expands more, so look for that soon! Enjoy!

When the Collector came down from his high, he found Arkin slumped beneath him, breath just slightly heavy. He slid a hand across his naked back, but he only twitched. “ _Arkin, are you with me?”_

The man almost seemed to freak as he moved, body trembling as he tried to push himself back up, making it only to his elbows. _“_ _ Where’s all your energy gone, Hm? I thought you could handle this.” _

“I’m...fine,” he slurred, trying to reach the edge of the bathtub for support. “I’ll get up, and then I can..go back...” his sentence slipped, falling into a wide yawn.

“ _You can sleep soon. First, you will eat_.”

The Collector scrubbed them down quickly, turning the water back on the rinse off the grime of sex and sweat on their skin. Once they were both mostly clean and the water had drained, he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his hips and placing another on the ground. In the tub, Arkin had begun to settled, eyes almost completely closed by the time the Collector turned back to him. There was something gentle and fragile in the way Arkin moved right now, and he found it significantly more appealing than the doll-like stupor he had slipped into while they were fucking. “ _Time to move, Arkin. Just some soup for you, and you can sleep_.”

And he truly meant those words. As angry, then inexplicably  _uneasy_ ( he would never admit to being afraid),as he had been a few minutes earlier, he was calmer now, and he felt the desire to give Arkin attention and rest for his good efforts. The man in question nodded, trying to get a firm grip on the edge of the tub, finally forcing himself up. The Collector stayed close as Arkin shuffled over to the towel, dropping down unceremoniously and shivering. The Collector quickly draped a towel over him and went for his canister of soup and the bottle of water. He settled in front of him, opening the water and helping him drink, steadying his shaking hands.

Then, he set the bottle aside and helped him with the soup. “ _Drink up, that’s right. You’re being such a good boy. You’re almost done,”_ he found himself encouraging the man, scooting in close and studying his face.

He found weakness around his eyes, tightness between his brows, and the encroaching paleness of too few red blood cells. He knew Arkin should have had a transfusion so he could proper replenish his blood, but he didn’t have any proper access to a blood bank, and he wouldn’t risk getting caught. Still, it meant that the smallest of activities would leave him like this. As he pulled the canister away, he brought his free hand up to stroke Arkin’s cheek, cradling his head. He felt some confusion at the swirling delight and feathery fluttering of his pulse, but he doubted it mattered; Arkin was his, and had accepted it, if even for a moment. There was reason enough to feel delight. He wouldn’t linger on the _other feeling_.

He couldn’t find any words to say as he stared into Arkin’s face, finding himself instead wondering how long this peaceful sensation would last. A few seconds, it would seem, as the man forced his eyes open and looked up into the Collector’s face, tired but determined. “We have..a deal. You’ll patch up the kid and leave my family alone.”

Of course, Arkin had to go and ruin it by speaking. Always thinking about other people, why wouldn’t he just think about the Collector? Was it too hard to give his undivided attention forever? The man nodded, leaning Arkin onto his side and adjusting the towel to lay over him like a towel. “ _ It’s a deal, Arkin. Go to sleep.” _

.....

Davie’s face ached awfully. It felt like hours had passed since his nose had been smashed into the ground and he was tossed into this box. He had fortunately turned and not drowned in his own blood, but he felt dizzy. More than anything, his nose and cheeks were throbbing, and he wondered if it would ever stop. He coughed as softly as possible, whining as it sent waves of pain down his spine. “Some-one...”

Then, he heard the soft click of what had to be a door opening. He held his breath, listening carefully, his heart thudding sharply in his chest. There was heavy, persistent footsteps, then softer, almost hesitant padding, as if a child was walking behind a bear. He heard the steps stop, and the creaking of a bed not far. He had a moment of confusion, then a spark.  Arkin.  Could Arkin still be alive? Then, the spark turned to unease. Even  if  Arkin was alive, it would mean nothing for him! He needed to get out of here as soon as possible!

He panted harshly as he heard the soft padding of feet approach him. He whimpered and whined in pain as his face throbbed with every shift of his jaw. Then, he shrieked as the trunk was tipped onto its side, half-dry blood slapping against his forehead. “Shit-!”

The trunk opened, and he tumbled to one side,shielding his injured nose, curling around his stomach. No, no he wasn’t ready to die! Please, no!“B-lease, don’d hurd me!” He begged, terror shaking in his stomach, tears filling his eyes.

The soft fingers that trailed along his arm made him jump. Wait, those weren’t male fingers...He looked up, eyes wide and wet, and saw someone he never thought he would see again. “...Abby?”

He couldn’t believe it, but the petite blonde was kneeling beside him, wearing a VERY large button-down. He couldn’t see anything else on her, and he felt discomfort and disgust swirling up his throat as the masked man stepped up behind her, placing. Strangely gentle hand on her head. He looked the man up and down, but he wasn’t completely sure; something was  different. “ Why is she...?”

“Shhhhh,” Abby murmured, and he couldn’t help but shudder at her glassy eyes. 

“Wh-what?” He said, and he jolted as she grabbed his mouth, eyes twitching awfully.

He tried to shake her off, but she only squeezed harder, sending the agonizing pain across his skull. He shook and struggled and tried to free his hands, but nothing was working. The pain travelled to right between his eyes, and it seared for a moment before his vision went white. He went limp, and the next thing he felt was the pain faded to a dull ache. Abby’s hand was gone, and as his eyes fluttered back open, he saw the man softly speaking, hands firmly clenching Abby’s shoulders. She nodded, eyes dropped, and she seemed almost...sad. For some reason, nothing about her seemed afraid of the man, and he slowly released her, shooing her over as he stepped away for a moment.

Abby turned to look at him, and he felt cold all over. She was glaring at him like he had been at fault for whatever just happened! He wanted to speak, but his whole face ached, and he wouldn’t risk anymore pain. Then girl approaches him again, tilting his head toward her as she swept away some sweaty bangs. “You’re lucky,” she whispered, eyes trailing down his face, studying the wreck that was his nose and following the crackling blood down his mouth.

He opened his mouth, but only a few airy breathes escaped. “Wh-why..?” 

She waggled her finger, and he stopped trying to get through to her. “Arkin sacrificed himself to help you. I’ve been here for a long time, and if it were anyone else, you’d already be dead.”

David’s eyes widened. Arkin had actually pulled through! But why? It was too easy to say it was guilt for what happened, but what sorta thief actually felt guilty? He was nearly bursting with questions, but his face refused to move anymore. Shit, this could be bad. Abby turned her head for a moment, looking up gently at the bed, and Davie could just make out the form of someone under the blanket, still and quiet. It had to be Arkin. He turned his eyes to the form of the masked man, and in his hands was a red and white box. A first-aid kit?He didn’t understand any of this!

Why was Abby here? Why was this guy going to patch him up? And if it was because of Arkin, how did Arkin have all this power? He didn’t understand! He trailed his eyes to Abby, and he blinked at her, surprised to see her smiling up at the masked man, almost looking lovesick. And then it clicked. Oh, God. Oh, GOD. “Youh,” he slurred out, anger and fear warring in his stomach.

This whole time, he thought it had been some random accident, or that it was Arkin’s fault. Maybe it was, but Arkin had done  something  to help him. Abby looked down at him, and her smile turned vicious and mean. God, it made so much sense!

It was Abby. She was helping this crazy man. She held a finger to her cruel smile, and uttered one long sound.

“Shhhhhhhhh.”


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hope you’re excited for the next chapter! I should have another chapter up tomorrow or Saturday, so look out for that! Enjoy as things get a bit stranger!

The Collector was irritated with this stupid boy. Dragging Arkin’s attention away, making Abby misbehave because he wouldn’t shut up, he had quickly lost all that made him interesting. While Arkin was difficult and disobedient, he always caved if he had to “protect” someone else. This boy’s survival instincts had lasted for all of two seconds, and then he had felt the need to speak when he wasn’t supposed to. He wondered for a moment if he should just kill the boy, but thought better of it. No, if he died, Arkin would find out, and he wouldn’t give into the Collector’s desires without some serious coercion. Not that it wouldn’t be fun, but he would prefer to see what Arkin was like when he truly gave up and let himself be dominated.

He crouched down above the boy, seeing the terror mixed with something appealing; anger. While he might be shaking in fear on the outside, this kid was seething on the inside. The irritation ebbed for a moment. This was the only thing that had kept him alive in the bowling alley, if he could keep this up, the Collector might be willing to deal with him, at least for a little while. He waved Abby closer, and dragged the boy up by his armpits, nodding at the trunk. Abby was quick to drag it away, and he dropped the boy to the ground, turning back toward the kit. When he turned back the boy had ducked his face protectively, curling his shoulder over his face to the best of his ability. The Collector almost laughed. 

It was pathetic, like a child with his head under the blankets to hide from monsters; it was only useful in making the boy feel better in some way, it wouldn’t actually protect him. He shook his head, not even bothering to hide his smile. At least he would get a laugh out of this brat. He grabbed his arm, roughly dragging his shoulder away from his face, studying the damage done. The boy’s nose was crooked, awkwardly tilted to one side and slightly crunches into his face. There was no outer damage, so that was good, but the brat needed to have his nose properly set, or he might rupture the artery running along the sinuses. He shushed the brat as he reached for his face, delicately grabbing the tip of his nose. He had no experience with broken noses, so he would have to be cautious.

He slowly pulled the nose straight, the boy letting out a straggled cry, and the Collector couldn’t really blame him. The amount of pain would lessen once he gave him something to dull it, but for the next week or so, the brat would be in pain most of the time. The Collector scowled at the thought. Perfect, he had to babysit this little disappointment. He glanced toward the bed, relaxing a bit at the gently rising and falling form, smirking. Fortunately, that meant he would get to see Arkin more, and Arkin would be easy to control now that he had someone to easily harm if he didn’t listen. His family would have been more beneficial, and the temporary threat of hurting Hannah had only worked so well. He was delighted at the thought of all the demeaning things he would make Arkin do...

As he thought of Arkin in various positions( on his knees, tied up with his legs open, drugged until he was squirming for release), he carefully checked over the rest of the boy’s face, seeing a split lip and some bruising around his cheeks, probably the result of the break. He left those be, taking hold of one bicep as he went for a pair of scissors. The boy stiffened, but he stayed stiff. He clearly didn’t want to know what the Collectors would do with those scissors, but he also seemed too afraid to anger him. He was normal prey, unwilling to get closer or farther. He was boring. Lowering the scissors, he caught the bottom edge of the brat’s shirt, cutting through it slowly and steadily. 

The boy was shivering and shaking in fear, and his eyes were glued on the path of the separating cloth, the faint redness of bruises being revealed interrupted only by small scrapes. When he reached the end of the shirt, he peeled the edge back, tearing it away a bit forcefully as it stuck to the dried edges of the stab wound in his shoulder. The boy let out a strangled shout, panting against the pain, and the Collector scoffed. Arkin would have barely moved at this treatment, he would have fought not to show he was in pain! This boy had nothing on Arkin, so why was Arkin protecting him?

He pulled out a cleansing towelette, firmly rubbing away the crusted on blood, growing gentler as he got closer to the wound itself. He let his mind wander as he cleaned the wound and set up to stitch it, prepping the needle and thread. His attack would be taken seriously, as mostly children had died, and he needed a new plan if he wanted to find the bitch and Arkin’s child. He thought about it, and settled on a solution; he would follow up on what was going with the bowling alley, and would then track the Bitch’s whereabouts from there. If he could find out anything to use against Arkin or actually found the little snake, that would be perfect, but for now, he had to do some research on the subject.

.....

The needle was agony. Davie had broken a bone before, had gotten a concussion or two playing soccer, sure, but this! This was fire all along his already aching shoulder. The wipe had left the area feeling raw, and the cuffs were beginning to chafe. Still, he did his best to stay steady-jawed. It wasn’t working out that well. He let out a held-yelp, feeling a sob in his chest. He didn’t know this much pain was possible, but every stab reminded him he was, in fact being stitched up by some psychopath. He had to focus, he couldn’t let himself get dragged down! He needed to remember Abby.

The stab of the needle hurt, but the seething anger was far worse. She set them up! Didn’t matter what that guys was there for, Abby had known, and she LET THEM  **DIE!**

He took a deep breath, shivering as a sob pressed against the walls of his lungs. It would be so easy to just let the pain take over and drag him under, but he pushed it back.

So, as the man tied off the final stitch, he took a few breaths. There was only one thing he needed to know, then he could decide what he was going to do. “My broth...er,” he got out, though the word was muddled and huffed.

The man stopped, and looked down at him. Then, he smirked, turning his eyes back. Abby stood as he motioned for her with one of his gloved hands. Abby looked down at him, and he saw it; her eyes were icy, and she looked down at him like he was a rat. He glared, heated anger licking along his stomach. Then, he head soft, husky words. It wasn’t Abby. What? “ _ Abby, why don’t you tell him what happened to his brother?” _

Abby smiled sweetly, but it felt wrong, all too wrong. The masked psycho had just spoken. Abby was smiling. He was weak and his hands were cuffed. This did not look good. Abby leaned down, cradling one side of her face, and giggled. Fucking  _ giggled. _ “Don’t worry, he’s fine now.”

David’s stomach churned, but he pushed on. “Wh-what..?”

Abby shushed him aggressively, smile gone. Clearly, she had a think against talking, or at least  _ him  _ talking. “I made sure the pain went away. He didn’t feel a thing, really. It was so quick, but I must say. Josh did bleed quite a lot.”

One moment. Two. Three. Time seemed to have slowed with those words. Josh has been alive, just unconscious when he last saw him. He had to be okay. He HAD to. He, he…”It is too bad. He was nice. I’m sure Arkin would have liked him.”

Rage. Agony. Sorrow. They all hit Davie at the same time. He let out a howl, kicking out, scraping along the length of Abby’s shin before catching her in the stomach, sending her tumbling onto her butt. Within the same second, the masked man grabbed him by the throat, cutting his cry off with a choked gurgle, quickly straddling his hips. Tears were streaming down his cheeks again, and he threw his whole body around, trying desperately to get free. He was gonna kill her. He was gonna KILL HER! She killed his baby brother, a  **_child_ ** , who hadn’t even done anything! He was barely a teenager! Why?  **WHY?!** He found the loss of air only fuelled his panicked struggling, and he managed to knee the masked man in the back, earning a punch to his injured shoulder. Everything exploded into pain and darkness after.

…..

Davie blinked, breathing harshly through his mouth. He felt sore in his joints and his face and shoulder were both screaming for his attention. His arms were free, but it didn’t matter; he was back in the trunk. He steadied himself, leaning his good shoulder against one of the walls of the trunk. Then, he began sobbing. Josh was dead. Abby, she-

She killed him.

He could kill her. He could rip out her heart, if she even had one. She had ripped out his. Josh was dead. And so was Andi. He could still see the blood all over the ground as he held her, trying to comfort her through the pain, begging her to hold on. It was the masked psycho that took her from him, along with everyone else. He sobbed harder, the full-force of the grief hitting him squarely in the chest. They were gone, all gone. He was alone, locked in a box with a broken nose and a stab wound, and he hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Arkin, however, had. He was a thief, a criminal. He didn’t help him, just prolonged his pain! This was Arkin’s fault! If he hadn’t pissed off the crazy murderer, everyone in that bowling alley would still be alive!

“Never forgive…” Davie mumbled, jaw aching.

“Never forgive…” he pounded his fist against the wall of the trunk, hard enough to hurt, and then to bruise. The pain helped ground him.

The masked psycho wanted to hurt Arkin? Fine! Davie would hurt Arkin, he would make him suffer. If it wasn’t for him, Davie would just be a normal person, arguing with his siblings and hanging out with his friends over the break. But now that he was here, living in this Hellhole, he was gonna survive and  _ ruin  _ Arkin. “ **Arkin,** ” he snarled, scraping at the inside of the trunk.

_ Your fault,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ You’re gonna pay for this. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, human nature often dictates right and wrong based on situations. That is also inclusive of blame. I would say it’s a whole lot easier to blame a fellow victim for their uncontrollable part in your suffering than the actual perpetrator. Still, it’s a scape goat. Can’t hurt anyone else, so let’s hurt the Collector’s punching bag! Look out for the next chapter soon!


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Happy Birthday to me! I can’t really have a party in this dire situation, but I can give you all a gift! So, a little present from me, a quick update! With some new twists.:) Hope you enjoy!

Arkin awoke comfortable. It was strange, he hadn’t awoken comfortable in a LONG time, even before all this madness. He shifted a bit, and then everything came back. Somewhere deep inside him, his insides hurt. He had never experienced this exact type of pain before, but it was crippling. Parts of his back were slightly sore, but moving at all just caused his insides to jump. He remembered every moment of why, too. He let a man fuck him. He sold himself for protection. God, he became exactly what he worked not to become in prison! He gritted his teeth and worked on slowly sitting up. It was a strange, painful sensation, but he was able to prop himself up against the headboard and rest for a moment. God, it was fucking WEIRD. 

He blinked and looked out at the dark, vague shapes around him. How many days had it been since he was taken? How much longer would that man use him before he got bored and killed him? He didn’t know the answer to either, but he didn’t want to find out what else the man had in store for him. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t REALLY keep Lisa or Cindy safe in here, he had to get out. But what about Davie? What about Hannah? Shit, he nearly forgot about Hannah. He had to play this game a little longer, and he had to stay interesting. There were way too many fucking people involved, but if he saw a way out, he would break for it. The police could do a Helluva lot more than him.

He needed to heal, but that didn’t take into account whether or not the masked man decided to have more fun with him, so, as revolting as it was, he had to go along with it. Sex was always worse when one of the two parties wasn’t ready. He wasn’t giving anything up by playing along, he was saving himself pain. He glanced up as the sound of footsteps clanged against the metal of his cage, just barely softened by the tarp thrown over it. He heard the click of a lock, then saw the silhouette of the ladder as it slid down. First, thick-set boots, then strong legs, and finally a wide back and dark head came into view. He had somehow grown accustomed to his figure, as he was able to stay relatively calm during his descent, but he immediately grimaced as the man turned around. It was so easy to think about being interesting and going along with him, but it was so much harder in practise.

The Collector’s eyes didn’t quite glow, but Arking could feel them, peering into him. One of the gloved hands touched his cheek, caressing the bruise along his jaw with his knuckles. The touch left him flinching just slightly, the skin still tender, but he didn’t move any more than that. The Collector moved to plucking at his lips, running his fingertips along the fullest parts. Arkin was getting unnerved and irritated by the touches, but one wrong step could end up tearing something inside that couldn’t be fixed with just a bit of stitching and bandaging. Arkin knew if anything serious happened, he was as good as dead. So, he simply stayed put and took the unusual treatment.

Finally, the man pulled his fingers back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked down at Arkin, eyes fixated on his face. “ _ I won’t be back again when you wake up,”  _ he said, and Arkin blinked. What did that mean?

“What?”

“ _ I may be gone for a day or two, but I’ll return at some point. You’ll stay here, and if you have to piss or shit, there’s a bucket.” _

Arkin didn’t understand. “What the hell does that mean? You’re leaving? You gonna leave us here to die?”

The Collector chuckled. “ _ No, it was too much effort to make sure you survived. I will return.” _

Then, much to Arkin’s confusion and irritation, he leaned in and kissed him firmly, deepening it and tasting his mouth in every crevice he could reach. Arkin was nearly out of breath, and he pushed the masked man away, sneering at the saliva dripping down his chin. Between gasps of breath, Arkin said, “I get the fucking message. Go on, have a good whatever. I’ll be here. I’ll be...good.”

The Collector rubbed his head with a smile, helping lean him back. “ _ Go bad to sleep, it’ll help heal your ass faster,”  _ the masked man said, and Arkin growled.  _ Fucking tool. _

“ _ Goodbye,  _ **_Arkin,”_ ** the Collector finished, and he made his way back to the ladder, climbing back up and stowing it away before locking the cage behind him.  _ This is going to be a difficult next few days,  _ Arkin thought, steeling himself for no food or water.  _ At least he won’t try to shove anything else up my ass. _

_ ….. _

_ The room was familiar. It was dark, and even as he flipped the light-switch, it stayed that way. He felt for the wall, flinching at the thick, wet substance that he touched, and phantom sensations of fear crawled through his stomach. But he knew what was going on. He wasn’t afraid, not really. His breath burst out of him as he heard a scream. He knew the scream. He had heard it all those years ago. He slowly made his way down the hall, toward the sound of something sinking deep, toward the screams for help. He stepped closer to the room, closer to his first real taste of carnage. He slowly pulled the door open, and instead of his father repeatedly stabbing his mother, he saw something else. _

_ He felt his stomach sink as he saw Abby, splayed across the floor, just the way his mother had been, sobbing as she tried to stem the bleeding. Her chest was a mess of torn flesh and blood, her shirt barely still holding itself together. She was dying. Then, his eyes made their way up, up to the familiar mask. He didn’t often look at himself in the mask, finding it trivial and meaningless, but he just knew this was  _ **_HIM._ ** _ It was himself. And instead of the intense fear he felt when he saw his father, it was something else. He understood. This wouldn’t kill Abby, this wasn’t real. And Abby was NOT like his mother; she was delicate and quiet, but also vicious and sharp. She wouldn’t die to him. This dream was fake. This was fake. _

**THIS WAS FAKE.**

_ The edges of the dream seemed to almost ripple, and he reached a hand down to Abby. She was no longer bleeding, she was instead stabbing his mother, the old bitch screaming for help. God, no wonder his father killed her. He stroked her head with a small hand, and turned to himself, reaching a hand out. As he touched his own hand, he  _ **_was_ ** _ his older self, and he turned to look at the door, seeing a blonde little girl peering in, eyes wide and afraid. He smiled. He knew this little girl, it was the one who led him to Arkin. “ _ **Come here, Hannah. You’re gonna show me where he is.** _ ” _

_ She, of course, screamed, and turned to run. He followed, but sedately. She wouldn’t get far, and Arkin would come to save her. As he walked down the dark hall, he saw one of the doors slam, and he was back in the Chase house. He needed someone useless to use as bait. He turned to see the boy, the little brat from the bowling alley. He was curled up, crying. Perfect. He grabbed him by the hair, smashing his foot against the door and tossing the boy in first, enjoying the way he screamed. He could see Arkin now, in the back corner, shielding the closet door. “ _ **Come on, Arkin, you’ve been chosen! Accept this!”**

_ He was sure he was about to grab him. He was close, maybe only four feet away when the floor fell out. “I’ll do what you want, just don’t hurt them.” _

_ The words echoed and spun around him as he fell, he was getting too close to the ground, too close- _

The Collector jolted in his bed. It was only about three in the morning, and he didn’t have enough time to properly sleep before he had to leave. His two week vacation was over, and he now had to balance work with taking care of Arkin and Abby and, to a lesser extent, the rest of his Collection. But he was frustrated; he wanted that dream to end differently. It was already fading from his mind, but he clearly remembered he didn’t catch Arkin. Fist clenched, the Collector slammed it against the soft mattress again and again, finally stopping once he calmed a bit. He turned his head slightly, looking at the unoccupied space beside him, stretching his hand out. It was cold. He was used to cold. For so long, his whole world had been cold and icy, but then, out of nowhere, this ball of fire came in, and he was scorched, all the ice melting away. It was easy to hurt people. It was easy to kill. But it was hard to understand others. Before Arkin, Abby was all he needed, but now, the heat had taken over. It was like, like, well…

No, it didn’t matter what it was  _ like,  _ it mattered what it WAS. It WAS addicting, almost drug-like, and the way that Arkin looked at him, the way he glared and fought and somehow evaded him for so long…

It was maddening. He couldn’t truly catch Arkin on his own, couldn’t fully own him. Even when he was fucking him, Arkin fought. He kept him in a cage, but Arkin made deals with him. He owned him, but Arkin protected others. He was either stupid or he had a death wish, but he always threw him for a loop. He couldn’t even begin to understand his motives, not to mention why he constantly put himself at risk to save others. It was driving him crazy! He...he needed to understand WHY.

Far too amped up, the Collector stood, dressing for his job. He would be finished by 2, and at that time, he could go see Arkin again. Even not understanding the man, he found himself focused and more relaxed anytime the other man was close. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t really care. Soon, he would come to understand Arkin, and if Arkin learned his place properly, he would keep him safe and well-fed and happy. It would be fantastic, it would be all better. He sat down at the couch for a quick look at the news and any new updates on the situation. The police were being rather tight-lipped about it all, but something caught his eye during the report, something that made his pulse race and his jaw clench.

There were a total of ten casualties along with one missing boy. Abby wasn’t counted in the equation because no one knew she had been there, and he had taken the brat now locked in a trunk. Now, the Collector was meticulous with his work, absolutely perfect with his numbers. There should have been 11 people dead in that building, so what happened to the last one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohhh, who isn’t counted as a casualty? Looks like the Collector’s losing his touch! Also, I definitely picture the Collector as a Sociopath versus a psychopath, so he had significantly more human qualities, I.e. fear, racing pulses when nervous, a normally functioning nervous system. He’s still woefully human. Also! I plan to explain Davie a bit more later! Yes, he isn’t a likable character, but, ya know, he kinda the real personality of the “final character” in most teens get murdered movies, and I plan to show how ridiculous that character is when they don’t get away.:) Until next time!


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I’m back with more story! Now, we get info on who got out.:) Hope you enjoy!

_ The dogs had bitten pretty hard, but only a few teeth had actually pierced skin. He couldn’t believe it, though, when the dogs released him. The first one had dashed away so quickly, it had torn a shallow gash along the back of his hand. The other followed not long after, yipping as he got a second kick in. He heard them barking, growling, everything, but they didn’t return. He could hear screams, but everything was so far away. He took his time to stumble to his feet, shimmying over to a stack of boxes, carefully making his way across the back, dodging one or two trip-wires. He stopped and hid when he saw movement, pulling himself into a dark section of boxes. To his relief, he saw blonde hair and a soft pink dress. _

_ He was about to step out and call out when he noticed something else; a teenage boy was laid out across a table, his shirt pushed up. He covered his mouth, forcing down a gag. The boy’s stomach had been cut open, and his intestines were wrapped around him, some dark, slimy shapes set by his head. God, those had to be his organs! He blinked repeatedly, clearing away tears from his eyes. He had to get out there, he had to talk to Abby- _

_ Then, she stabbed the darkest of the meaty lumps, what he could only assume was the liver, a long, serrated knife in her hand. He felt his stomach twist. Abby has seemed so innocent, so why wasn’t she afraid of all of this? Had she lost her mind? He followed her slowly as she stepped away from the body, taking the knife with her. She had a strange sort of confidence, like she was...comfortable. His heart beat harder, almost to the point of hurting as Abby stepped through the door to the alleyways, and he waited a few moments before scurrying across the floor, anxiously reaching for the door. He pulled his hand away for a moment, then went for it again, slowly cracking it open.  _

_ He felt himself gag for a moment. Across the alleyways, he could see the covered body of Marcus, a pool of blood saturating the polished wood flooring. Beyond that, he saw what looked like a mess of torn flesh, the curved, prominent arches of ribs peeking out. He could even see the ripped remains of intestines and organs thrown around, the only remaining human quality the sprawled our legs and mangled arms. He couldn’t see anything else. He looked over, and bit his lip at the large, looming form of a man. He was dragging David over to a large, red, luggage-box type of thing, and he realised Andi was laying in her own pool of blood. _

_ His throat clenched, sorrow sitting heavy in his stomach? Where was Jessie? Where WAS she? His eyes focused back on Abby. She had walked calmly up to the terrifying man, and he turned to look at her, showing off the equally terrifying mask covering his face. He seemed to say something, gesturing toward Josh, turning back to cinch the box closed, Abby raising the knife. What-? He nearly screamed when he saw her lean down, slashing across Josh’s neck. He was too far to see the real effect of the cut, but blood sprayed, showering the blonde, who had her head petted by the masked man. _

**_She’s working for him_ ** _. The thought made him feel even sicker.  _ **_She set us up._ **

_ He closed the door as slowly as he could, scrambling back, the sobs finally catching in his throat as tears spilled down his cheeks. Oh, God, oh, God... _

_ Were they going to kill him next? He turned, breath rushing in and out of his lungs in long, sharp bursts, and he caught sight of the boy again. He was barely moving, and there was no way he could save him. But he had to do something. He stepped closer, eyes trailing along a wire that led from the swollen cavity that was his torso. That couldn’t be fucking good... _

_ The wire wound down the table, ending in a bag. He looked into it, finding the bright screen of a number display. He nearly vomited then and there. A bomb. There was a bomb. No, nope, he couldn’t dismantle a fucking bomb! He couldn’t kill this guy, he wasn’t a fucking murderer, but he couldn’t save him, he could set off the bomb! Instead, he sprinted as quietly as he could back down the way. He couldn’t let them know he had survived. There had to be an exit back here, he just had to find it! He felt his palms beginning to sweat, and he rubbed them against his pants. He could do this, he could do this, he could fucking do this! _

_ Then, he saw it; a door. It was bare for the most part. He felt a temporary moment of relief before he saw the unending locks. There had to be at least ten, and each was a different type. He didn’t know what to do about all of this! He stopped in front of it, wanting to force it open. God, he couldn’t even find a handle! He pushed against it once, twice, a third time, hoping it would open before he slumped. There was no way that was budging. He turned, searching. Come on, there had to be another way! He made his way further down the shadowy rear of the building, almost walking into one of the chest length wires and tripping over an shin-high one. _

_ He was lucky enough to trip forward as a large blade dropped, narrowly missing taking off his foot. He crawled away, softly chanting “fuck” over and over again. He made it back onto his shaking legs, but his face crumpled as he saw he was at the end of the building. There wasn’t any other doors. He stumbled over to the wall, leaning his shoulder against it and covering his face with his hands. This was it. He was going to die. He pressed his back to the wall and slid down it, crying soundlessly. He was gonna die.  _

_ He let the fear mead him for a few seconds before he roughly dragged a sleeve across his face. If he was gonna die, he would die fighting. He stood slowly, eyes searching for a weapon, ending on the corner closest to him. He saw SOMETHING, it looked like a broom or something, and went to reach for it. _

_ It wasn’t a broom. _

_ He felt it, running his hands up and down the welded together metal. Could it be...? He slid his hand up as high as it would go, and yes, he did in fact feel more small rungs. It was a ladder. But would it lead him out? He hesitantly put one foot on, and when it held firm, he pushed off from the ground and began his slow ascension. He looked out over the boxes, and saw the shapes of two forms across the long stretch of room, faint and almost cloudy with the distance. It was so dark where he was, there was no way they could see him. He finally reached the top, his hand softly grazing the ceiling, finding a latch. Oh, thank fucking God! He was cautious as he unlocked it, keeping a close eye on the two forms. Then, to his relief, they went back out, out to the alleys. _

_ He pushed the door open, it swinging open slowly, and his heart dropped. It was squeaking. Please, please, somebody fucking make it possible for him to get away! He crawled up as soon as he could, legs feeling like jelly as he placed his feet on the flat roof. He was getting out. He was gonna be free. He closed the door, backing away from it and staying low. He didn’t know when they would come out, he didn’t need to be caught after he finally made it out. He surveyed the entire roof, and only found a long drainpipe leading to the ground. Well, better than nothing. He looked around, trying to judge whether or not he would be seen if he climbed down. _

_ He was looking down at the left-hand edge of the building, and it was rather close to the parking lot. Fortunately, it was far from the only other door he could imagine the man going through, the one covered in deadbolts, and he felt confident he could get down without being seen. If he did, he could wait in his car, and then he could call the police- _

_ He pulled his head back when he heard the back door creak. It was distant, but loud enough for him to worry. He covered his mouth, staying low. After a few moments, he heard a pair of feet tapping against the ground beneath him, the strange sloshing of liquid making him bite his lip until he tasted blood. The feet stopped, but the sloshing continued, splashing onto something. What was going on? He could only think of one thing; someone’s putting down a line of gasoline to blow up the building.  _

_ He glanced over the edge of the roof, and he saw he was only half-right. There was gasoline, and it WAS being tossed onto something, but it wasn’t the building. It was the cars. They were gonna set the cars on fire. Oh, fucking shit! He muffled a few heavy breaths into his hand, shoving away the panic. He couldn’t get to his car, that would be fine. He would instead go and hide in the woods. He would get through this- _

_ The sound of a car pulling up had him turning his head. On the backside of the building, a white van, completely nondescript with white windows, pulled in. He watched as the tall, masked man stepped out, going straight for the red box from earlier, the one he had put David on. Then, he watched him drag the box to the trunk of the van, opening the door and tossing it in, slamming the trunk doors behind it. He still had Davie in there! Was he taking Davie with him? This was too fucking crazy! He watched as the man gestured for Abby, and pulled a lighter from his pocket. _

_ He clicked it on and dropped it onto the slick pavement, fire bursting to life and quickly spreading across the parking lot. Then, the explosions began. He kept a hand over his mouth to muffle the unintentional screams. God, there was so much heat, and he kept having to force down his coughing. It smelled like burning plastic, and he couldn’t help the awful twisting in his stomach. He heard the sound of tires screeching against ground, and looked out to see the van speeding away. He hadn’t even heard them getting in, but the world had been exploding around him, so it made sense. _

_ He watched carefully as they sped away. He had to get down off the building as soon as possible, it could go off any second! The moment they were out of sight, he latched onto the edge of the roof and threw a leg over, clumsily reaching for the drainpipe. This wouldn’t hold his body weight for long. He had to do this quick. He held the roof with one hand as he pulled his second leg over the edge, the bolts and metal creaking beneath him, and he slid down it as best he could, cursing as he repeatedly slipped and lost his balance on the bolts and the slippery metal, landing painfully but unharmed on the ground. _

_ He took a few breaths, wincing at the pain in his heels before taking off, sprinting with all his might into the woods. He knew about a phone booth, he could get there! The sun was beginning to set, and he realised exactly how bright everything was. He threw up a hand to the best of his abilities, nearly running into a tree before swerving and stumbling on its roots. He spent what felt like an hour running through the woods, but the sun had barely started its descent, so it had to have only been a few minutes. Halfway through, he heard a distant crash of sorts. The ground shook ever so slightly beneath him, and he froze, grabbing onto a tree for support. The once brilliant sunset was stained with thick, black smoke behind him, and he could taste the soot in the air. _

_ The building had exploded. And he made it out. Oh, God, he made it. But Jessie, Andi, Marcus...he felt a sob burst from his mouth, watching the smoke rise and hearing the sound of sirens. How had they moved out so fast? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know anymore about what was happening at the bowling alley. He turned and ran again, slower and more wobbly. He made it out and to the other side of the forest, and he ran into the first restaurant he could see. He felt so NAKED outside, so unprotected. “Please,” he gasped out, startling the poor waitress who had been talking to a patron. “Please, I need your phone.” _

_ “Th-there’s a pay phone in the back, I can offer you some change?” The woman asked, unsure. He nodded furiously, trying to hold in the tears. _

_ He made his way to the back, the waitress bringing him a small bowl of dimes and quarters, and he put in a few. Then, he dialled the only number he could think of. “James Harling here, who’s speaking?” _

_ The voice dissolved any remaining strength he had, he slumped against the booth, muffling a few sobs into his hands. “Hello? Who is this?” _

_ “D-dad-“ he forced out. _

_ “Trevor? Trevor, what’s going on? Are you hurt? Did you get in an accident?” His father sounded frantic, and he pushed the tears away for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. _

_ “I’m at the diner next to the McDonald’s and truck stop. Come get me. I-I just saw a massacre.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, the Collector figures out what happened.:) I have an explanation for WHY the Collector is losing his touch, but it’s pretty simple. Also, I’ve been working out how these characters will look with references, so you guys should see some art pretty soon!


	24. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, got a short chapter out today. Sorry for the wait, but I’ve had 5 meetings in the last week, and hopefully the game I’m working on starts scripting next week! So, for now, enjoy!

The Collector was out the door and in his car in moments. Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit! He completely failed! He had rushed into this particular attack, and he hadn’t been absolutely immaculate! He let some stupid fly escape, and he needed to rectify this mistake. He clenched the steering wheel as he pulled out, teeth nearly grinding together at how tightly his jaw was tensed. Who had he not seen dead? He knew the boy that had the explosive in his stomach would not have survived, and neither would the kids in the kitchen. Most of the rest were dead by his hand, except...the girl in the bathroom, and the boy she had arrived with. He knew the girl wouldn’t be able to get out safely, she was missing an arm. He vaguely remembered the boy as he ticked off all the others. He hadn’t gone to check for his body. He hadn’t made sure the dogs had taken care of him like the girl in the front.

**DAMMIT.**

It was the boy! It had to be! The boy was the only explanation...His mind was scrambling for answers as he drove as fast as possible. He needed to get to his Collection. He needed to see pictures. And he needed to talk with the stupid brat...shit, he couldn’t do that! He pulled to the side, shutting off the engine and angrily beating the seat beside him. He  _ HAD  _ to show up at work, or else it would be suspicious! He had to play up that he wasn’t feeling well because he didn’t have time for all of this! He had three days, tops, and he needed to make sure the fucking runaway was caught. He could tell someone what he saw, he could mention Abby-!

He slammed his head back against the head rest, letting out a long shout.  **SHITFUCKFUCKINGSTUPID-**

This was that bitch’s fault. If she had been there, he would have just killed her and been done with this. But of course, she wasn’t there and there was a fucking  **swarm** of children in her place. This was all  _ her  _ fault! He seethed and raged for a few minutes, then his thoughts turned to Arkin. What would happen if he had to run? Would he be able to bring Arkin? What about Abby? He was practically shaking with fury. That was it, he had been far too lenient with them. He would find this little shit that got away, and he would fix all of this. If it came down to it, he would destroy the hotel and move his special pieces elsewhere. He knew Abby would listen. All that was left was taming Arkin a bit.the anger subsided a bit. He could see it; Arkin and Abby, safe and tucked away, right where he could find them, and they would listen. He could imagine the adoration from Abby, the smile, and the obedience of Arkin. He could imagine the man leaning into his touch, begging for him, pulling him close,  **_wanting_ ** him-

He felt the anger spark back to life. He could lose that, that future he was working for. He needed to find the boy and destroy any evidence of who he was. This wasn’t some little girl, this was someone who was almost an adult. This could ruin him. He turned his car back on, focused enough to head to work. He had 45 minutes, he could plan in that time. And when he finally caught this boy, this escape artist, this, this…

He would keep him. He would see if he was like Arkin; worth the effort. If not, well, he would at least have gotten rid of a loose end.

…

Arkin woke up in darkness. He could make out the bars of the cage through the backlighting on the fabric, and he sat up as carefully as possible, the blanket pooling around his waist. He still aches, but it wasn’t like before. It was softer, less crippling. He rubbed at his head, eyes trailing down to the dark thread knotted together all around his hand, looking jagged and puckered. His hands, his livelihood…

He pushed out a shivering breath. He could deal with that later. For now, he had to figure out how he would get out of here. He was able to sit entirely up, but he had to lean back, resting his weight on his palms instead of his backside. It ached as he shifted weight, but he simply let the pain settle before he tried to move again. He made it to his feet, and they shook slightly. He was so weak, and hunger was basing at his stomach. He felt so tired, but he had to get himself back into shape, ready to run. He took a few breaths as he stumbled back to the cage wall, settling himself against it. He could do this, he could do this, he would hold onto the wall as he regained his strength and confidence, and then he would get himself to a...better...stamina…

He flopped back to the bed, only half-landing on it. His head was so woozy, and he was hungry, and everything was moving around him. He stumbled, trying to find the strength he’d had a moment earlier, and awkwardly shimmied back onto the bed. God, it was cold for summer. He pulled and twisted the blanket from under him, taking deep breaths. He felt so useless! Why? Why couldn’t he do something as simple as stand? It was pathetic! He clenched his head between his hands, squeezing until a throbbing clawed at the back of his eyes. He couldn’t walk, had barely eaten anything, and his hands were a wreck.  _ I’m ruined- _

He stopped that thought before it could go any further. No, he would heal from this, he would get out, he would survive! But right now, he could barely move. He sat there, staring at the ceiling, hatred and hurt swirling in his chest. He needed to get out. He had to find a way to unlock this cage, and he had to have the strength to make it through. He had only seen a few small sections of the building, but he knew it was far worse than that. He needed to find shoes, and he needed to get help. Then, he would see that sick fucker rot.


	25. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! This one’s a bit longer, and be prepared, because the next one gets down to tacks of brass.;)

It had been hours since Arkin had awoken. He had tried three separate times to stand, and had only gotten weaker each time. His legs shook even now that he was laying down, and his lower back was tense and sore. God-fucking-shit…

He was beginning to doze off when he heard a sharp slam. His eyes snapped open, darting around in panic. Shit, that wasn’t good! He wanted to sit up, to crawl away, to prepare for a fight, but everything felt like jelly; he could barely force his legs to bend! His heart was hammering away in his chest, and his stomach was gurgling in discomfort. He would be fine, he would be fine, he would be **fucking FINE-**

The heavy footfalls of boots were getting closer, and he jolted when he heard the cage creaking loudly, slowly lifting up toward the ceiling. It was a chance! Arkin tried to push himself up, but he only made it halfway before he saw the Collector. The man was moving toward him fast, bending down to avoid the half-raised cage, reaching out to grab him. Something was wrong, the man seemed almost feverish in his movements, and as he caught Arkin, he immediately hauled him up. Arkin was dropped onto his feet, but he collapsed to his knees, too weak to do more than feebly clench his fists. The masked man looked down at him, and Arkin had a flash come to him when he looked into his eyes. _ It was so dark, and the rain was pelting down on him. He was struggling in the mud, the wet chill creeping down into his bones, and his shirt was suctioned to his skin with the water. Above him, the man was dragging him, hand curled in his shirt, and as he moved, the cloth rubbed painfully at the delicate flesh. _

Arkin had seen this same look then. It was cold, it was sadistic, it was animalistic. Arkin knew this man intended to drag him away by any means necessary. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the Collector decided against dragging him this time, the man leaned down and heaved him over his shoulder, knocking the air from his lungs. He let out a dry cough, holding onto the dark material of the man’s shirt, legs weakly tensing and shaking. He had to get out of here, he didn’t wanna do this anymore, no, no more, no more-

He reached out with one hand for the doorframe, but it slipped from his fingers. He was all too weak. Arkin let out a short yelp as he was slapped hard on the ass, the hand staying in place and painfully massaging the area. Clearly, the Collector was not amused with his fighting today, however weak it may be. He was sure they were going to the bathroom again, a fate he was dreading, but the masked man turned the other way, stepping down toward another door, this one looking quite solid and clean. Arkin didn’t like this one bit. No, no, he needed to get out, to get back his strength, to fucking see this man  _ rot-! _ He didn’t even realise he had begun to protest. The word “no” slipped past his lips, soft and barely audible, and he received another hard smack to his aching ass. This was it, it had to be:

Arkin was gonna fucking die.

The door opened, and this time, Arkin gripped the frame harder, struggling to hold on with both arms. The Collector tugged on him, but he didn’t let go. “NO! NO!”

The Collector adjusted his hold, arms wrapping around Arkin’s waist, and he yanked hard. The smaller man lost his hold, sliding free of the doorframe, flailing. He even forced his legs to bend and try to kick out. And that’s when he was tossed into the room. Arkin curled as the side of his body made contact with the floor, and he let out a screech as the man descended upon him, grabbing his arms and fighting with him as he pulled them away and tried to push him off. Of course, it didn’t last for long; the Collector was so strong and healthy, and he was still larger than Arkin. When the two had been on a equal playing field, he had still lost. Now? Now, he was subdued in the first five seconds, arms locked on either side of his head, legs entangled in the masked man’s. They were both breathing hard, but not for the same reasons. Arkin was struggling to clear his vision of white spots, and the man above him was trembling with restraint. Arkin hates that. He hated it so much. Was this how he was going to die, pinned down by a man when he couldn’t even stand on his own? It was so pathetic!

He slid his shoulders a bit, trying to find some comfort in the nearly painful position, and the masked man squeezed his wrists, nearly suffocating him as he pressed down onto him with the entirety of his torso. “ _ Don’t move. Don’t fucking move.” _

There was something very wrong with that voice. He had never heard this man sound so...unhinged. In fact, the man almost sounded  _ scared.  _ But that wasn’t possible, why would he be scared? This man was hardly human! He was clenching Arkin’s wrists so tightly, one of Arkin’s pinkies started to feel numb. He was trapped, and quickly losing his air. “Stop..won’t...move,”he ground out, and the Collector softened his hold slightly.

Arkin inhaled deeply as the man pulled back a bit, loosening his grip ever so slightly, just enough for the almost static sensation of his blood circulating properly reminding him of just how strong this man was. He wasn’t exactly weak or small, but this man had been able to manhandle him with no problem. He wondered why this man, no, this monster,was doing all of this, and if this was just a new way of tormenting him for getting away. He was lifted back off the ground, and tossed into a metal folding chair, the masked man leaning against him to make sure he didn’t try to escape again, as completely pathetic as it had been. He took one wrist at a time, cuffing them to the seat of the chair. Then, he stepped back and leaned down to do the same with his ankles, first the left one, then the right, both cuffed to the stretcher between the chair’s front legs. The man stayed there for a moment, just looking at him, and they sat in silence. Then, as ifa switch had flipped, he was back on his feet, walking around Arkin and rummaging around in the cabinets behind him. Arkin let out a long breath through his nose, his whole body shaking. He was chained to a chair, and the man had yet to do any serious damage. Why? 

He was so sore, his whole body felt twice as heavy. He couldn’t force himself to sit straight anymore. He sank back against the chair, head going limp against the frame, his legs splayed apart weakly. He was so tired…

He hadn’t even realised his eyes had closed until a hand slid up his neck, cradling his jaw. He snapped them open, eyes wide and panicked. Looking down at him were those strange, glowing eyes, and as he tried to sit up, to move, to do anything, the hand tightened. “ _ Stay like this. Don’t move.”  _

Arkin couldn’t really fight back as he was now. He was weak, he was exhausted, and he was fragile. This fucker would snap him in two. The hand moved back and forth over the fading bruise there, and the tender flesh twitched and ached. He stayed as still as he could, but his brows pulled together angrily, teeth pressing his lips together. The masked man rubbed their noses together in a strange, almost affectionate move, and he quietly murmured,”  _ Why do you always give me that look? Do you hate me?” _

He wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but that would probably only leave him torn up inside and out without any answers. If he was gonna die a painful death, he wanted to know  _ why.Why  _ did he kill people in their homes,  _ why  _ did he always take one survivor, and  _ why  _ did he decide to fuck him? He studied him, bitterness and exhaustion fueling his anger, and he said, “ You slap chains on me and do whatever you want, and you expect me to not hate you? To not want to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt me? You’re a sick motherfucker, and I swear I’m gonna see you behind bars.”

The masked man was silent through his short tirade, but he leaned lower, resting their foreheads against each other. “ _ that’s too bad, Arkin. I won’t be behind any bars unless they’re keeping you my prisoner. You are... _ **_mine._ ** _ ” _

The short response only made him angrier, but he couldn’t drag his head away, even as he tried. The man was gripping his jaw and the back of his neck tightly, hard enough to dig deep into the bruised skin. “Stop,stop!” Arkin hissed, but it only caused him to hold tighter, tighter, his nails digging into the skin through the nitrile.

“STOP!” Arkin finally screamed, and the Collector pushed his face away, stumbling back. 

“What the FUCK!” Arkin couldn’t handle this, this unending torment and pain. His whole chest was tight and thrumming with the rapid pounding of his heart. He couldn’t do this. He  **COULDN’T DO THIS.**

The Collector stared back at him, and he seemed almost to be shaking. Seriously? This man, this absolute little-fucking-faggot-bastard had the audacity to rape him, torture him, target his family, and  _ he  _ was the one shaking? Un- _ fucking- _ believable! The man stepped closer, but Arkin refused to back down. He sneered at him, eyes angry little slits. Arkin wanted to fight, to scream and hurt and tear and, somewhere deep in the broken recesses of his heart, cry until the pain went away. Across from him, the Collector seemed to snap out of his thoughts, and he grabbed the back of the chair, dragging it back toward the counter, the scrape of its feet against the ground like nails on a chalkboard. Arkin winced at the sound, but went for the hand, ready to pull it off of him at any costs. The defiant move earned him a hard slap across the face.

He reached the back, and started to wrap coarse rope around his torso and arms, trapping them at his side. “What are you fucking Doing? Stop, fuck-“ he lost his breath as a fist slammed into his stomach, leaving him bent over and coughing.

“ _ Another fucking word, and I’ll cut your little whore wife’s head off and feed you her heart,”  _ the masked man threatened, and Arkin stayed bent over, just trying to keep his eyes open. 

It only took a few seconds to finish the task of tying the rope tightly behind Arkin, and the Collector grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him. “ _ I’ll be back soon, and we’ll all have a little  _ **_chat._ ** ”

Then, the masked man turned on his heel and went for the still-open door, closing it behind him. Arkin felt his stomach knot, and his heart was raising again.  _ We’ll all have a little chat.  _

Who else was he bringing in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: how does the Collector plan to catch Trevor, and WHO is he bringing in? It isn’t really too complicated, but Arkin can’t take anymore stress..


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, for the return! Some new info, some slowly unhinging Collector, and some pre-torture! Nothing too crazy, but look out for next chapter, it includes some more hardcore torture. Enjoy!

The Collector was back in the large room he had been keeping Arkin and the little brat in, and when he looked down on the red trunk, his anger swirled into something sadistic. He was finally gonna find out who the fucking runaway was, and he would get to blow off some stress at the same time. He unlocked the first strap on the trunk, and prepared for a possible struggle. Arkin may fight the most, but many of his collection fought him when he released them from the trunk.

He unlocked the other strap, and he kicked open the lid, seeing the boy wrapped in a ball, arms protecting his head. “Don’t hurt me!” He shouted, and the Collector knew what this meant; he would fight if he had to. He could work with this.

He reached around his belt and grabbed a shorter, stronger length of rope. Then, he reached for the back of the boy’s shirt collar, yanking him up as he struggled and screamed, begging him not to hurt him. _ Not yet. We’ll see how much you’re willing to talk,  _ he thought to himself. Then, he tied the boy’s hands together in front of him, leaving a length that he could hold onto.

Finally, he spoke, so soft and raspy, the boy could barely hear him. “ _ Stand and walk quietly. We’ll see if I hurt you after that.” _

He could see the boy weighing his options, clearly unsure of how to proceed, but he finally stood, cautiously stepping out of the chest. He felt a smirk spread across his face.  _ Like lambs to the slaughter… _

The boy walked down the hall slightly behind him, but he seemed unwilling to fight him under the current circumstances. Good, good. He would be easy to crack. They reached the near pristine door, and the Collector could see a few chipped sections of paint on the doorway. He grimaced, irritation working up from his stomach and into his jaw. He couldn’t let Arkin continue to misbehave to that extent, he needed to learn his place! So, when the door opened, he had already made up his mind.

_ I’m gonna torture this boy until Arkin learns the consequences of his actions. _

_ … _

When Arkin looked up, he saw David, the boy from the bowling alley. The two froze for half-a second, and both felt their stomachs sink.  _ Why did he move us if we were already in the same room? _

David tried to take a step back, but he was pushed in by the Collector, the imposing man closing and locking the door as he held him in a headlock. “Wait, Wait! Stop!”

He was forced over to a long, slim table, and he was bent over it, the man leaning onto him. He didn’t like this at all, in fact, he hated this. He had seen what the psycho had done to Arkin when he first got there, and he was not looking forward to that. Across the room, Arkin was fighting and struggling with all his might, panic and anger curling up in his stomach. No! No, he couldn’t watch anyone else get raped, he just couldn’t! He was struggling with all his might, pulling each limb in every direction possible, but none of the cuffs broke or came free, and the sharp edges only managed to cut the skin and leave faint scrapes, the rope edges rubbing skin raw through his shirt. “Stop! Fucking STOP!”

The masked man looked back at him for a moment, and turned forward, slamming a fist into the side of the boy’s head. He went limp immediately, and Arkin let out an outraged shouted. David was forced further up the table, then flipped. Finally, his legs were strapped down, his hands tied above him. “What are you doing, what the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?!”

The masked man didn’t bother with him. He didn’t like this, the man had always been distracted by him before, and now, now...he shivered at what that could mean. The masked man pushed up David’s shirt, showing off the many bruises and cuts he had received, and Arkin felt guilt build up in his stomach.  _ Your fault. _ He shook off the thought, knowing it wouldn’t help him now. He had to think of something, anything. Then, he saw the knife. It was long, nearly the length of his forearm, and the jagged edges glimmered dangerously.  **_Shit._ **

“Fuck you, you faggot, fucking leave him alone!”

The man made a long slash across David’s left side, and the boy screamed, whole body jerking. His eyes were wide and terrified, searching for what hurt him. He started sobbing as he saw the man above him, the knife presented sadistically in front of his face. “You said.”

David stumbled on his words, gasping and hiccuping through his sobs. “You said.”

Across from them, Arkin was doing his best to fight, but his vision was going fuzzy. So...tired...He forced his eyes wider, blinking away the sleep. “Fucking-shit…”

Then, the man made another cut across his ribs, shallow and uneven as it jiggles over the individual bones. David screamed again, but this time it was words. “YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T!”

The masked man removed the knife, but he let out a chuckle, and he looked back at Arkin. The look was mean, cold, and it spoke volumes of what all this was. It was a sort of punishment, something done to hurt him. He felt sick. He remembered what happened when he vomited last time, though, and he swallowed back the feeling, the bitter flavour filling his mouth and his churning stomach.  **_Your fault._ **

He wanted to smack himself. Why would he fight this man, why, why, why? He was putting people in danger! Still...he hadn’t actually done anything to piss him off until they got to this room. Was he tired of Arkin shouting and struggling? Had he been planning this since he arrived? Was this  **his fault?** A small voice in the back screamed something else was going on, that this didn’t make sense, that the masked man would have acted quicker. The majority of him was boiling with shame and guilt.  **_You did this! Look, now that boy’s gonna die just because you wouldn’t listen!_ **

For the first time in years, Arkin  **hated** himself. He  **hated** that he was too selfish to not give in. This  _ was  _ **his fault.** He felt his chest shake with a few small sobs, and harshly squeezed his eyes tight, refusing to let any tears fall. He heard another scream, and forced his eyes open, blinking away the liquid blurring his vision. The man had moved from the boy’s stomach down to his feet, and he had left a long cut across his arch, just deep enough for blood to rise and a few drops to fall. “Wait, WAIT! STOP!”

He struggled to reach out, to change the man’s attention, to do  **anything** to stop this. The man left quick, repeated cuts along the boy’s foot, all shallow, all crisscrossing, some even curved. David was screeching to the sky, crying and tugging in every direction, and then, the masked man stopped, releasing his leg. The young man sobbed, crying into his arm, and the masked man pulled something out, something Arkin could faintly make out as a photo. It was slightly crumpled around the corners, but whatever was on it made the young man freeze, eyes wide. “No,” he said, voice filled with disbelief. 

Was it blackmail? Was it the rest of his family? A girlfriend? Arkin didn’t know, but he knew he had to help this boy somehow.

…

The pain was awful as it swirled around his body. It hurt, but it was all pretty shallow, he could tell. He took a few deep breaths, eyes shut tight. The man was moving again. God, this should be nothing, but it  _ HURT! _ He was not proud of the weak sniffles of pain that left his mouth, and he cracked an eye open. Then both. The man had pulled out what looked like a piece of paper, but the glossy sheen on the front told him it was a photograph. He blinked, focusing his eyes on what he was seeing, and his stomach dropped. It was a picture of Trevor, arm draped over Jessie. It was from that night. At the bowling alley. Why was he showing him this? Then, it hit him. Had he taken pictures of their bodies? Was he gonna make him live through the same torments as he shoved the pictures in his face?

“No,” he whimpered, eyes darting between the masked man and the picture.

The masked man smiled, then he pointed firmly at the picture of Trevor. “ _ Who is he?” _

The question was quiet, soft and raspy. He was a bit confused by the question, blinking a few times.  _ What? Why would he care, Trevor was de- _

He screamed, back arching as the man grabbed his foot, his hand tight against the cuts. “ _ Tell me. Who. Is . He?” _

With each word, he leaned closer, and Davie could see the man was no longer smiling. Now, he was sneering, and he could almost feel the hatred the man actually had for him. “He’s dead, why does it matter?” He stupidly said, immediately regretting the words as he saw the man’s glare. The Collector’s pupils were tiny, almost absurdly so, and as he shifted, the whole of his iris seemed to shimmer with an alien light.

Davie almost stopped breathing then and there.

The masked man stepped back for a moment, shaking his head, seemingly disappointed with him. “ _ You stupid fucking dog,”  _ the Collector murmured, and he drew out a rather short blade with a prominent point.

**Shit.**

…

The Collector was actually rather excited that the stupid boy hadn’t told him the name. Yes, it was dangerous for him the longer the little runaway was out there, but it helped focus his mind. He had been so livid, so angry and tense the entire day, he had nearly taken it out on his desk. Fortunately, his strange behavior had been interpreted as him feeling ill, and he had left early. He had almost just taken Arkin and Abby and set the building ablaze, but he was resisting that; he had so many projects he had pushed aside since Arkin, so much he wasn’t ready to give up. He would also not let that little  _ cunt  _ of a teenager get away from him. The little girl has been infuriating, but she was different; she hadn’t seen Abby, for one. This little shit had not only seen Abby, but talked with her. He might even be able to give identifiable information on him or his van!

With all that in mind, the Collector set to his work; he stabilised the boy’s injured foot, teasingly sliding the flat of the knife again his big toe before setting the tip of the blade between the nail and skin. The boy was blubbering, practically leaking apologies and pleas not to hurt him. Then, he dug the tip into the skin, severing parts of the nailbed. The boy wailed, and hot blood gushed our pumping and sliding down his foot. It wasn’t much, but the pain had to be unbearable. “STOP!”

Arkin was still fighting. He was STILL  _ FIGHTING!  _

The Collector calmly put the knife to the side, then whirled around and tightly grabbed Arkin’s shoulders, locking eyes with him. The man blinked, shocked, and he looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time. “ _ Shshshhhhh,” _ he hushed out, his tone light and airy. He wanted Arkin to stay quiet; this wasn’t his place to intervene. “ _ Another word, and I’ll have to show you what I do to whores who don’t listen.” _

Arkin looked shocked, eyes wide and...was that fear? Could that delicious uncertainty really be  _ fear?  _ He leaned down, roughly smashing their mouths together, shoving his tongue in, aggressively dominating his mouth. It only lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away, licking away some thick strands of saliva before turning back to the crying, bleeding brat. All Arkin needed to doo now was shut up. He leaned over his victim, and with that same airy voice, said, “ _ Ready to talk?” _


	27. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short chapter, and a reason to escalate. Enjoy!

Arkin had  _ never  _ felt this afraid of the man, not when he took him from the ambulance, not when he chased him around the house, not when he raped him. His eyes had always held some semblance of humanity in it, had always seemed to recognise he was human, however much good it did. Now, though...it was like he was being stared at by a starving predator. He would snap at any moment, and tear him apart. His voice had vanished, and he had completely frozen. He was looking at a monster in a human body. When the man tongue-raped his mouth- _ he refused to call that power play a kiss- _ Arkin had been even more afraid. He didn’t understand, why was the man so...well, upset? Disturbed? Agitated?

The masked man pulled away, and his eyes were filled with that unsettling  _ hunger.  _ He thought that was it, he would be raped or eaten right then and there, but the man only went back to his victim, knife lifted as he leaned down to whisper to him. “Why...why are you doing this? He’s dead! You don’t need to care unless-“

David’s words stopped, and Arkin tried to understand what was going on. Then, David let out a short, manic screech of laughter. “You didn’t...he got...he’s  _ gone!” _

The boy’s short burst of laughter quickly turned to a scream of pain as the Collector grabbed the boy’s foot, taking the nail of the still-bleeding toe, and he twisted it. Arkin cringed, mouth pulling open. God, that was just…

He could hear the boy continuing to scream, and he thought he might hear tearing, as well. He glanced back, and a full body shiver ran down his back. He could see the nail pulling away, blood gushing, and as the nail pulled further, he saw the exposed veins, still holding tight to both sides. He closed his eyes, the image making his own toes curl in discomfort. Somehow, it was almost worse than seeing someone gutted, but it would only stay for a moment. God, he just-

His heart was beating way too hard, and it had begun to hurt. Why did it hurt so bad? Something felt wrong. He struggles against his bindings, but he couldn’t seem to draw in enough air, and the harder his heart beat, the shorter his breath became. Was he having a heart attack? He blinked as the body shiver seemed to stay, his skin feeling all too cool while his stomach felt like it was on fire. The entire world was twisting and turning painfully around him, and he was sure he would vomit if he could. Everything was an amalgamation of shapes and colors, all swirling together to go dark and silent. What was...No, why...it…

…

The Collector paused as he realised Arkin was silent. For the majority of this rather short and tame torture session, he had been exceptionally vocal, breathing heavily and shouting at him. Now, he couldn’t even hear his gasps and heaves. He debated on whether or not he should continue with his torment, and finally released the boy’s nail, the screams turning into sobs. Good. Stupid boy, fucking thinking he could  _ laugh  _ at him! He turned, wiping his slightly slick glove on a nearby towel, and he looked at the slumped form of Arkin. He was completely still, and when he lifted the other man’s face, he saw it was pale and clammy. He leaned down, pressing his wrist to the man’s forehead, and could feel his temperature was a bit higher than normal. “Fuckin’ shit,” the boy sobbed behind him, and he turned back for a moment, contemplating whether or not to finish his torture.

He looked back to Arkin, and slid his teeth back and forth in irritation. He didn’t know what exactly was wrong with Arkin, but he couldn’t leave him like this for long. He would need to get this over with, and he needed to make absolutely sure this fucking brat knew he was being serious. With that in mind, he rushed up to the boy, grabbing his knife and, in one smooth movement, embedding it into the boy’s top hand, going all the way through the top hand and partially into the bottom hand. He could hear the blade scrape against bone, and a thin spray of blood splashed across his mask. He had heard the boy scream for the last few minutes, but this time, the boy howled. He didn’t feel the satisfaction from the last few small, weak cuts or even disfiguring his toe. This time, he only felt desperate. The boy shook his hands and dragged them around, stopping as it only caused the knife to sink in deeper. Holding the knife firmly in place with one hand, he ran the other hand up and down the sliced skin, tugging it away from the blade, tearing it as he dragged it to the side. He studied the bloody innards, the red of blood and the deep pink of muscle. He even saw the distant paleness of a spot of bone peeking out.

“ _ Talk, or I cut your hands in half. You’re out of time.” _

He slowly slid the knife up and down, the sharp edge splitting the flesh at a snail pace, heading for the skin and tendons connecting the fingers and knuckles together. The stupid brat hadn’t stopped the wails and howls, thrashing back and forth so violently, his nose began to bleed again, the healing break reopening. “ **_STOP! STOP! I’LL TELL YOU, I’LL-“_ **

The Collector slashed the knife upward, cutting straight up and separating his index finger and middle finger from halfway down his hand. Now, the blood was covering the top of the brat and the upper edge of the table, sloshed across the ground in a rapidly growing puddle. “ _ WHAT IS THE NAME?!” _

He wasn’t playing anymore games. He set on to the second hand, about to stab in. “ **_TREVOR! HIS NAME IS TREVOR HARLING!”_ **

The Collector removed his knife, but he didn’t look entirely convinced. “ _ Spell it. If you lied, you’ll  _ **_lose_ ** _ your hands.” _

…

He wanted to pass out. Hell, Davie wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. He thought getting stabbed would teach him what real pain was, but having his hand sliced from the center of his palm to his knuckles? He had felt the knife _ inside  _ him, had felt the edge scraping the meat of his hand off the bone, feeling his hand go limp in places and liquid fire burned up his arm before rapidly going numb. There was something very wrong. Everything was on fire, but that line of icy numbness...it trailed up his arm, and a deep ache had started to throb in the crook of his elbow. He turned his face, gagging and sobbing as blood nearly drowned him, spitting it onto the table. Eyes closed and he’d turned, he shakily spat out each word, being as careful as he could. He had to get this right, he had to remember...at one point, he stuttered, and he felt the man’s fingers on the edge of his ruined hand. 

“WAIT! I-I DIDN’T MEAN TO MESS UP, I’LL START AGAIN!”

He couldn’t stand anymore pain. He restarted, and the hand left, the man pulling his arm back. He didn’t seem to have a notepad or pencil, and the longer it went on, the dizzier Davie felt. The numbness had spread up his arm, and he was getting colder and more tired. 

“ _ Repeat it.” _

Davie has been crying for a while now, but somehow that broke him. He couldn’t hold in the heavy, ugly sobs, and he tried to recite it again, going slow and between sobs.

“ _ Again.” _

It was worse than Hell, it had to be. Could he have already died? Had he done something wrong? He continued to recite Trevor’s name, and was finally given a nod after six times. Davie was almost sure he had already passed out when the worst burn he had ever felt stabbed right into his hand. He wailed again, his throat raw and bloody, and he could smell the nausea-inducing, overpowering chemical scent of rubbing alcohol. “ _ Wouldn’t want it to get infected.” _

He hated this  **_thing._ ** This was not a man, it was a monster. He had never wanted to hurt someone as much as he did his tormentor, and he had never been more willing to go to Hell to get proper justice. He could barely keep his eyes open as the unbearably tight wrappings of some cotton-y bandage held his wound closed, quickly saturating with the sticky wetness of his own blood. He could feel it in his hair and drying on his arm, and he deliriously wondered if drinking someone else’s would replenish his. Then, he felt to the dark and painlessness of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Trevor! We get a quick connection, and we learn where he is. Time to make this fun!
> 
> On a separate note, I’ve been slowing my update rate for the last few months because I’ve been in a moving limbo of sorts. I don’t have much time to write on the side, but I absolutely love this story and have a sequel planned! I’m also thinking of doing another one where it’s Arkin in Silent hill. My friend introduced me to the game, and I love the concept! Let me know how you feel, see you next time!


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we jump to Trevor! Hope you enjoyed:)

Trevor couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept for more than an hour since that night he called his dad from the diner, sobbing and bleeding. He didn’t know how he ever would again. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see the bloody remains of his friends reaching out, screaming for him. He could  _ hear them. _ He sat against the corner furthest from the door, a wooden bat clenched in his hands and a blanket warmly wrapped around his shoulders.

He started as his door clicked, squeezing the bat and readying himself to lung. “Trevor? Kiddo?”

He relaxed. It was his dad. “Come in,” he said as loudly as he dared, getting to his feet, bat still held high. 

His father stepped in, and he closed the door behind him. “Lock it.” Trevor wasn’t taking any chances.

“Trevor-“

“I NEED you to do that before I can talk with you!” He snapped, his heart beating rapidly. He had to make sure, he had to  **_make sure!_ **

He saw the look his father gave him. He saw the pity. He would live with the pity if it kept him safe. His father locked the door carefully. As he turned around, Trevor had a thought:  _ what if the door isn’t fully closed? _ “Tug on the handle to make sure it’s really closed.”

“Trevor!” His father was losing his patience.

“Fine, I’ll do it!” Trevor pushed past his father, adjusting the bat to one hand, prepared to hit anything on the other side, grabbing the handle and yanking. It didn’t budge.

With that,all the tension left him, and he leaned against the door before straightening. An axe could destroy this door with no problem. He moved back to his corner, and sat heavily, staring at his father. He was in his uniform already, and he had bags under his eyes. “What did you wanna talk about?”

“Trevor, kiddo…” his father had taken to calling him that nickname more often, as if to calm him or soften what was going on. It wasn’t working. “The FBI was able to verify what happened. This guy is the same one who attacked the Chase family a week or two ago. They..”

Now his father sounded hesitant. “They’re moving you to a safe house far away from here. They believe you can help identify the man who did this-“

Trevor tensed at that. “Not a man, not a man, not a  **_fucking_ ** man,” he spat out.

“Easy, easy, hey, Trevor,” his father called out, moving toward him.

All he could see was the dark clothes, the large form looming over him. He almost thought he could see the terrifying mask- “NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

His father recoiled, eyes wide. He pressed his lips together, and Trevor wrapped his arms around his head, shivering and shaking. An unseen tear slid down his father’s cheek, quickly wiped away, and his father cleared his throat. “They’ll..they’ll be here tomorrow. An escort will be picking you up directly from here, and they’ll take you away. You’ll be safe then.”

And with that, his father left. He stepped out into the living room, nodding to his friend Jeff. Since that night, an on-with officer was always at the house, and stayed close enough to make sure his son was safe. He had to pick up some paperwork before the FBI agents arrived, then he would be coming right back. He would be here for his son.

…

Trevor didn’t like the darkness outside his window. It was only about 8:30, but the fading of light in the room made his chest tighten until it was hard to breathe, and he scrambled up, turning the light on and locking the door, checking three times before he settled back into the corner.  _ It’s okay, it’s okay, he can’t hurt you, how would he even find me? _

_ But what about everyone else? He killed the Chase family, and they were so rich- _ He stopped that, taking a few deep breaths. He couldn’t let himself do this, he had to rest, he wasn’t even thinking straight anymore! He looked at his bed, and his stomach flipped.  _ What’ll happen if you sleep? What if he shows up? What if  _ **_Abby_ ** _ shows up? What if- _

NO!

He stood, crawling into the bed before he could talk himself out of it. He would be fine, he would be safe, he could DO this! He pulled his knees up to his chest, and for the first time since he was nine, he wished he had a stuffed animal to hold onto. He shivered and shook for the next hour, but he finally fell into a light doze.

He shouldn’t have.

…

Downstairs, Officer Jeff Parkins was reading a paper, scanning sales and obituaries with a tired eye. He’d been here since 10 this morning, he was going on 12 hours now. He glanced down at the vibrating of his pocket, pulling out his phone. Snapping it open, he cleared his throat. “Officer Parkins here.”

“Jeff, it’s Jim.”

He leaned forward, relaxing a bit. “Jim. You on your way back?”

“Sorry, Jeff, I was called to stay for a while. There’s something about Arkin they need me to identify.”

Jeff’s shoulders slumped a bit. Great. “Think it’ll help find O’Brien?”

Jim had known O’Brien for years, had checked up on his family after he first arrested him, even becoming his Parole Officer. If anyone could find him, it would be Jim. “Not sure, but it might. Still don’t know why he was at the house, and Governor Chase refuses to let anyone talk to her granddaughter, but we might have a lead.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here,” Jeff said. 

“Hey, can you check on Trevor for me at some point? I’m worried about him. He hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Jeff held back a derisive snort. Jim hadn’t slept the last two days at all, and next to nothing the week before. He was dead on his feet. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him. But you owe me dinner.”

The two chuckled and said their goodbyes, Officer Parkins not noticing the shadowy figure of a man trailing across the wall behind him. After all, the house had a good security system, and the back door was in his line of sight. He hadn’t thought to check the garage door, hadn’t known that the system was shut off after major issues earlier that day, hadn’t known he would be in any danger.

He hadn’t even felt the knife slice clean through his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s here~! Poor Trevor. I will say, I’m quite excited!


	29. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I’m loving this story! It’s wonderful to have others like it, too. Please enjoy!

The house was quiet when Trevor woke up. It was quiet and still. That was all too wrong. The house was never this quiet; there was the air conditioning, the dishwasher or laundry, even the sound of something his father would listen to during the night. Hell, he couldn’t even hear the sounds of dogs or cars outside. It was just the static-like ringing of silence, seeming to grow louder and more oppressive with each second. He snapped his eyes open, looking around fearfully. It couldn’t be, it didn’t make any sense! He turned his head slowly, and he saw it; his door was open, the light from the hall entirely gone. His chest aches and creaked with the rapid pulse of his heart. Shitshitshit _ shit _ **_SHIT!_ **

He sensed more than saw movement below him, and he tended so bad, he couldn’t breathe for a second. No. No, please. He shook with silent sobs, digging his nails into his thighs, closing his eyes to center himself. He had to breathe, he had to stay calm. He would be okay, he would survive this. Slowly, he opened his eyes, letting them fall down, down, down, to the foot of his bed. He strained his eyes until it hurt, and he could just make out the top of a mask down by his feet. He knew that mask. He slammed his eyes shut again, just trying to inhale and exhale slowly. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real,  _ how could it be  _ **_real?_ ** He debated, pleading for his life, but he knew it wouldn’t work. Instead, he let his hand slide across the bed, praying it hadn’t fallen off in the time he had fallen asleep. 

His hand stretched out sliding across smooth sheets before coming to a stop. He could feet the cool metal of something against the very tips of his fingers, and as he hesitantly looked, glancing over, he yanked his hand away. It was a bear trap, the  **_monster_ ** had put a bear trap in his bed! The man sprang up as he finally moved, the motion of him pulling his hand back enough to send him tumbling off the bed. Thankfully, the man hadn’t put bear traps all around his room, so he fell onto the relative safety of old carpet instead of unforgiving metal teeth. The masked man stood, towering over him even from 5 feet away, and he screamed with all he had. Nononononononono-

He scrambled back, kicking his legs raising an arm to protect his face, curling tightly into a ball against the furthest corner.  **_“ NO! DON’T HURT ME!”_ **

He knew his begging would fall on deaf ears, but he still tried anyway. The man barrelled toward him, forcing him down face-first as he grabbed at his hands and arms, pulling them back. He gave out muffled screams after that, all garbled pleas not to kill him or hurt him. The words had all just swirled into blubbering by the end of him being tied up, his arms locked behind him. Then, the man forcibly dragged a handkerchief down his face to his mouth, catching it between his lips and making a shabby gag. Trevor began to panic.  _ No, no, I don’t wanna die,  _ **_I DON’T WANNA DIE!_ **

He was thrashing and tossing his legs out with all his might, almost rabid with his fear. The man didn’t seem to really care. He reached down, holding his head in place by the throat, and slowly added pressure, waiting. The boy couldn’t lash out with his hands, and his legs were useless as they were currently, they couldn’t reach his  _ throat!  _ So, as his breath was cut off, he began to slump and shake weakly, muscles tensing and relaxing sporadically. Even as he stilled, though, the man only added the pressure to his throat, and his vision went patchy, black splotches covering his sight.  _ No, no, I don’t wanna die like this! Dad! DAD! _

…

Distantly, Jim felt an uneasiness in his stomach. He hadn’t left his son for the last few days at all, and here he was, coming in after general work hours. He couldn’t relax at all. He worried about what the next few days would hold for his son, knowing he wouldn’t see him for a while. It hurt to see his child, the boy he raised and loved for 18 years turn into a wreck in only a few short hours. It was taking a toll on him.

He rubbed at his tired eyes, trying to pretend it was sleep and not desperate, agonising tears. His son! He was replaced by a paranoid, hyper-vigilant husk of his former self, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to do anything but shake in fear and sometimes cry. He had never seen his son this way. The FBI would be of the utmost help to him, but why did it feel like he was abandoning him? He groaned, closing his eyes as they burned with the promise of tears. “It’s for the best, Jim, it’s for the best,” he muttered to himself hoarsely.

Then, the door to his office slammed open. He looked up, shocked and confused, and he felt the unease grow into anxious fear as he saw Hodge, a fellow officer on the force, his usually dark skin, ashen and sickly in complexion. “Hodge, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Trevor.”

…

Trevor slid in and out of consciousness below him, but he didn’t stay awake for long. The Collector easily dragged him toward his trunk, settled near the side door to the garage. He paused, and his eyes caught on a picture; he left the boy on the floor, moving in close, reaching out for a picture frame. He couldn’t believe it, but it was Arkin laughing with a man who had a similar face to the boy. They seemed to be having a good time, and he could almost see...was that a bonfire? He couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed to be in someone’s backyard from the near-red fences, and Arkin had a little girl in his arms. She had dark hair, and looked equally happy. The Collector didn’t like it at all.

It made his stomach twist uncomfortably to see Arkin with these  **_people._ ** He had never seen this side of Arkin, and he tossed the frame as hard as he could, not even taking care with it. The sound of glass shattering brought him back, and as the sound grew, his irritation and anger went frigidly numb.

Shit.

A window across the room had been where the picture frame had landed, breaking all the way through. He didn’t have time to deal with this, he needed to get out before someone came to investigate. He grabbed the boy and tossed him in the trunk, dragging him out to the garage with a deep frown. Who the  **_fuck_ ** were these people, and why the  **_FUCK_ ** were they so close to Arkin. Shot, he shouldn’t have thrown the picture frame…

…

Jim was on his feet in seconds, his chest gripped with terror. “What’s going on?”

“We got a call from the fire department. Your house was on fire.”

Jim was running to his car, but his mind hadn’t processed what this could mean. He didn’t hear Hodge speaking, didn’t hear the sheriff trying to call him back, he didn’t hear any of that. No, no, no, he had to get home, had to find his son, had to make sure he was  **_SAFE-_ **

  
He pulled out, but his mind just kept spiralling.  _ No, Trevor, no, nononononono- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people thought Trevor would die, but remember; the Collector has an MO. Hope you like the next chapter, as well. It’ll continue what’s happening, and explain what exactly is going on to Arkin.


	30. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, wow. Got over twenty comments in as many hours! Hello, all, I’m sorry for the wait! This has been the year for bad things in my life, but I haven’t forgot about this story! Hope you enjoy this chapter, next one should be a bit longer, and it should help explain some interesting points that I’ve left hanging.:)

Jim has sped all the way home, sirens blaring, heart pounding. He had to get there, he didn’t have time for any stops! It took a third of the time to get home, and that still was far too long. When he pulled up, the area around his house was already sectioned off, a small crowd huddled together, and he felt his stomach plummet. The outside of his house was crisp and blackened, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of burned plastic and wood. Any flames had been extinguished already, so it probably wasn’t a very large flame, but it was worse near the kitchen, a large hole seared into the roof where embers and ashes had collapsed. He jumped out, staring at the devastation in an almost numb stupor.  _ Trevor… _

He snapped back into movement, rushing to the scene, a firefighter holding him back. “Officer, the house is still too hot to enter. We already pulled out the only person who was in the house-“

“There were two people in the house! Who did you pull out?!” Jim was desperate. Please, his wife had already left and taken his daughter, it was just him and his son!

The firefighter leaned away, shocked, but he held him firmly away from the scene. “Officer, you need to stay back, the house is too hot to enter-“

“Jim!”

He turned to see Hodge rushing out of an SUV parked just past his own cruiser. Hodge gave the firefighter an apologetic look, grabbing his arm and hauling him away. “What the hell did you think would happen? You can’t just run into a burning building! And don’t give that shit that it isn’t burning anymore!”

“My son is in danger! Who did they find? Is he safe? Is he-“ Hodge cut him off, shushing him firmly. 

“This ain’t the time or place. Get in my cruiser, and don’t say another word. We already got police on-scene, and they’ll be able to bring in any evidence. Get in the car, and I’ll tell you what we know.”

Jim stood his ground for a moment, unwilling to leave, but exhaustion and worry got the better of him. “You better fucking tell me the minute we get in that car.”

…

Arkin’s head was heavy when he awoke, and he felt both hot and cold at the same time. He tried to shift his tired body, but only managed to rub his aching wrist against the metal of the cuffs. He tried to force his eyes open, but the firm press of cloth over it kept him in the dark, even when he did crack his eyes open. Giving up on that, he let his head rest against the pillow, focusing on trying to move his legs. “It’s best not to move.”

He started at the small voice. It was clearly a woman, and she was sitting  _ very  _ close, because her fingers flitted across one of his cheeks. “Wha-what?”

“You’ve been feeling weak haven’t you? You also have a bit of a fever. With all the blood you lost, I’m sure you’re anemic.”

The hand rested on his forehead, and it felt pleasantly cool. He pressed a bit into it, letting out a long breath. Then, he fuzzily remembered the boy, David. He tensed, but it only left his stomach rolling with sharp needle pains across the whole centre of his stomach. He groaned, and the hand became more firm, holding his forehead. “Where does it hurt?”

Arkin shook his head, breathing in and out carefully. “Stomach…”

“Oh, that. You’re starving.”

He was startled by how completely calm the woman sounded about his current condition. “Wh-what?”

Then, the hand pulled away, fingertips gently caressing his skin. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help you. I’m going to feed you, do you understand?”

No, he did not. He didn’t understand at all. He tried to shake his head, but it only left him wincing. Was this actually due to blood loss? Was it hunger? Who was this woman, and how did she know what was wrong with him? Was she some crazy escaped captive of the Collector, or could she be a  _ very  _ strong hallucination? Before he could ask any of these questions, though, he felt the warm edge of a spoon press to his bottom lip, pulled away as he jolted in shock. “Open up, Arkin, you need to eat,” the woman said, her voice disapproving.

“Who...are you?” He spoke, but kept his lips mostly closed, pressing them tighter when she tried to shove the spoon in.

The spoon paused, and the room went silent for a few moments. “I’m Abby. Please, if you don’t eat, he’ll be mad at me.”

Her voice had taken on a desperate, fearful quality, one he had heard before. It was just like the voice of his ex-wife, his Lisa, when she had first told him about the sharks after her. God, that motherfucker was forcing this poor girl to feed him, or else! He opened his lips just slightly, pitying the poor girl, and the warm bland taste of chicken broth, and the odd sensation of what seemed like rice. He swallowed it before he could taste for anything strange; he hated to admit it, but he was so hungry, he couldn’t bring himself to really care if it was poisoned. “That’s right, I’m going to feed you from now on; he told me I have to.”

He wanted to ask why the man that had abducted him cared to feed him, but he decided to take advantage of the food. He ate bite after bite, savouring the faint flavour. God, he didn’t even realise he had been so hungry. After what felt like twenty spoonfuls, his stomach twisted, grumbling heavily. Instead of opening his mouth for the next tiny portion of food, he clenched it shut, heaving a bit. When was the last time he had this much food in his stomach? Fuck, how long had he even been here? He didn’t wanna get sick, but he just felt so, so…

The spoon didn’t press further. Instead, the edge of a tiny glass found his lips, and he tasted something chalky and just faintly sweet, something he was fairly certain was Pepto-Bismol. “Drink this, it should help settle your stomach.”

He gulped it down as quickly as he could, but the lingering flavour left him feeling queasy. “Wat-water,” he pushed out, and the woman complied, helping him drink.

He hadn’t even realised he was thirsty; the water slid down his throat, into his stomach, and he shuddered, body settling. “What...happened?”

“I don’t know what happened,” the woman, Abby, said, and her voice was back to the quiet, emotionless tone. There was something wrong with this girl…

Then, the familiar creaks and screeches of the cage raising rang through the room. It hurt Arkin’s head a bit, but the pain had become consistent, faint, he stopped caring. He knew what the cage lifting had to mean.

“ _ I see you’re awake.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the next chapter soon. My mom is driving me across the country, and I have plenty of time to write, so get excited!


	31. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Finally, I’m getting into the thickened plot now, so be excited! This will also follow through into the sequel, so I hope you enjoy it.:)

He stiffened, back tense, but he knew better than to shift too suddenly. He was tired of the pain. So, he slightly turned his head, trying to identify where the man was. “ _ How are you feeling?” _

Arkin sneered, not exactly angry, but on the way there. “Why would you care?”

The faint cling of nitrile rubbed across his skin, the firmness of fingers pressing into his jaw. “ _ You never learn, do you?” _

The fingers tensed, digging in, and the Collector tilted his head slightly, seeming to study something. “ _ How do you know the Harling family?” _

At first, Arkin was only confused. He didn’t know WHERE exactly he knew the name, it was on the tip of his-

He felt his insides clench when he finally remembered where he knew the name. Jim. His parole officer. “How do you…?”he couldn’t even finish the question, he was so numb.

Above him, somewhere he couldn’t see, the Collector was gritting his teeth. He didn’t like this response, not one bit. Arkin should have just said the man didn’t matter, that he was some irrelevant man in the complex history of his life. He had been feeling a burning anger even since he had seen the photo, and he would get answers  **NOW.** “ _ Now,  _ **_Arkin,_ ** _ either you tell me, or I’ll throw the brat in with my dogs.” _

Arkin felt hollow. He could tell he was angry somewhere deep down, but it was distant, and he was imagining what would happen if he didn’t say anything. The man would probably beat him bloody again. He wondered if he would die. He wondered if he should...He decided not to continue that disturbing line of thought, instead answering with his own question. “What did you do to David?”

He couldn’t know how angry this would make the man. The Collector stood over him, one hand balled tightly into a fist, shaking with anger. How  _ dare  _ Arkin speak anyone else’s name! He let his face go, and before he could slap him, Abby reached out a hand, grabbing the bottom of his shirt. He looked over at her, and she shook her head, face grave.  _ Arkin wasn’t doing better. One hit too hard could send him into a downward spiral.  _ He firmly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. It didn’t work. He snapped his eyes open, grabbing Arkin by either shoulder, and he leaned down into his face, angrily shaking him a few times. “ _ HOW DO YOU NOW THE HARLING FAMILY?!” _

Arkin hated that he wanted to go back to sleep. Where was that strong man that had been in the Chase residence, taking torture to save a scared little girl? Where was the man who worked for months to provide for his daughter and ex-wife? He glared and bit his lip. The Collector was not having it. He let Arkin go, but his eyes were narrow and cold. “ _ Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to ask  _ **_Trevor.”_ **

Arkin didn’t bat an eyelash. “Who’s Trevor?” He was confused, forehead creasing.

The Collector smiled, and it was not a nice smile. It was mean, and it was cold. “ _ You’ll see.” _

Arkin did not like the way he said that. He didn’t like it one bit.

…

Trevor has woken up about a half-hour earlier, crammed into a trunk. His throat hurt, but he found himself in one piece, relatively unscathed. He tried to turn, to adjust at all, and he pressed his shoulder against the thick, crusting remains of something he was sure he didn’t want to know about. After that, he decided to stay still. He could tell a few things, even in the small space of the trunk he was locked in; first, he was in a moving car, sliding and scraping against the firm floor beneath him. He could tell he wasn’t buckled down, what with all the moving, but he hoped it meant he wouldn’t die just yet.

Yeah, like that’s how it works.

The car had stopped, and he tensed, expecting the terrifying, masked monster of a man to come around and drag him out. And he kept waiting. One minute. Two. Ten. He was just beginning to relax what felt like thirty minutes later when the trunk door slammed open so hard, it bounced back and forth, slamming aggressively back into place. The heavy sound of slamming and shuffling got closer, and he slipped as he was dragged back quickly and without warning. He tried to steady himself, legs and arms wedging him between the sides, but then he fell heavily down to the ground. He groaned, curling around his stomach, trying to settle onto his knees. God, he had to have bruised his back with that! He didn’t have time to ride out the fresh pain as he was tilting, falling into one of the corner’s as the trunk was dragged across the ground, hard and fast.

There was something wrong; Trevor had seen the terrifying man before, and even though he was murderous, he had been controlled and cold. Trevor could hear angry growls and grunts, and he even heard the man muttering to himself. When he heard what the man was saying, he wished he hadn’t. It was filthy statements about what the man would do to him, and he tried not to cry as he heard him talk about the lengthy way he could disembowel him through his rectum. God, what had he even DONE to this guy? Had he been a douche? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? What was WRONG with this man?

It took a relatively long time for them to stop, and in that time, Trevor came to the resigned conclusion that this man would kill him. He had just begun crying when he was rather suddenly dropped, trying to catch his breath again. Then, he heard the thunderous clicks of the matches coming undone.

Shit.

…

The Collector slammed the lid open, maybe a little too hard. It didn’t matter, though; he could fix it if it broke. The young man he looked down on was looking up at him, eyes wide. It was clear to him that he wasn’t going to beg, like the insufferable brat from earlier, but he looked on with terror. So, easily and with sadistic pleasure, he pulled the boy out by his arms, tossing him to the side. He scrambled around, trying to get his legs under him, but having his arms forced together behind him was making it nearly impossible. He grabbed the boy by his hair, pulling him up as he cried out in pain, using one arm to drag him over to the bed. He had already had Abby go back to her room, so he knew Arkin wouldn’t see her just yet. The longer he trusted her, the better it would be for everyone.

Arkin was tense and silent as he listened to the two men shuffling closer, Trevor making pained, terrified sounds the entire way. Right next to the bed, the Collector tossed the terrified man at Arkin’s feet. “Fuck!” Arkin shouted, pulling his feet back. The Collector smirked at his clear discomfort.

  
“ _ Let’s see if we can jog your memories,  _ **_Arkin.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Arkin digs himself deeper into a hole, possibly some smut, and even a little explanation on how Arkin and Jim know each other!


	32. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hope you’re excited about a quick update. No smut in this chapter, but look out for the next one. ;) Enjoy!

Arkin let out a curse as someone fell across his legs, pulling back. “ _ Let’s see if we can jog your memories,  _ **_Arkin.”_ **

Fingers pulled at one side of the tape over his eyes, and he winced as it was pulled away. Everything was suddenly all too bright, even to the point of making him turn his head away with his eyes closed. Then, his jaw was grabbed and forced forward. “ _ Now, don’t be like that, you have to look carefully and make sure that you remember!” _

Arkin tossed his face back and forth, but he couldn’t break free of his hand. After a few moments, he cracked one eye open, trying to focus. “It’s too fuckin’ bright...can’t see…” he hissed out, still trying to drag his face away, but the Collector was holding tight, rebruising some of his still-tender skin.

“ _ OPEN YOUR EYES. OPEN THEM!” _

Arkin slowly forced his eyes back open, and he saw the faint shapes of what had to be the Collector and...Trevor. He didn’t know who that was, but he knew Trevor would be used against him, just like everyone else. He hated it all. So, he focused on the shapes struggling against his legs, and as his vision cleared, he started to recognise the young man in question. He was tall, and had a wide jawline and thin lips, and something about his wide eyes reminded him of someone…

Then, it hit him. “Jim…”

The young man looked startlingly similar to Jim Harling! He glanced to the Collector, horrified by exactly how angry the man looked. “ _ Who in the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ is Jim?” _

The question was far too calm. He could tell the man was livid, but he couldn’t even begin to think of why! Why did he drag his parole officer’s son into this? He didn’t even know the kid! More than that, it didn’t make sense; the man could be taking out all his frustrations on him, he was right here! And yet he chose to torture people he didn’t even know...He sputtered in confusion as the man shook him. Right, he was just staring blankly at him, and he was supposed to be answering his question. He didn’t usually have this problem, but it was getting harder and harder to focus.

“Jim’s my parole officer!” He tried to sound calm and sure of himself, but he was too incredulous for that.

The Collector’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, and he shook the young man he was holding. Trevor had gone silent, not wanting to set the clearly unhinged man off on him, but he let out a yelp of fear as he was jostled, pulled back just enough to clearly make out the other captive’s face. It was Arkin. Arkin, Lisa’s ex, his dad’s parolee, the man missing in connection with the serial killings. He was alive. “ _ Why was there a picture of you and your sweet, Little, BABY girl in his house?” _

Arkin’s face went blank. The Collector couldn’t tell if it was because he was caught in a lie, or if he was thinking of one. He let go of Arkin’s face and pulled Trevor up with him, ignoring his small, pathetic struggles. “ _ Maybe I should just find  _ **_Jim_ ** _ , I’m sure he’ll be more honest with me,”  _ he spat, ready to turn around and plan for that.

He wasn’t all that surprised, though, when Arkin shouted out to him. “Wait! I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything, just...leave anyone else out of this. Put the kid away, he didn’t do anything, you can do whatever you want to me.”

Arkin was desperate to stop this awful cycle. He was tired of dragging people into this. He didn’t even want to know how many kids had died because he hadn’t been able to stop this masked monster, just the thought alone made him feel hollow and numb. He looked into the man’s eyes, begging in every way he could. “Please.”

Something behind the Collector’s eyes had darkened, and he glanced over the man’s covered body. “ _ You need to get cleaned up anyway. Trevor here’s gonna get a cozy little box all to himself, and you and I are going to talk.” _

It wasn’t an offer. Arkin nodded, looking away. He could tell where this was going. He was going to hate himself in a few hours.

…

The Collector was dragging the Harling boy out by his armpits, angrily shaking him. “ _ Stand, you little fucker,”  _ he hissed.

Trevor shuffled his feet, taking small steps as he was yanked back. The man turned him around, then he heard the sound of metal sliding against thick leather. He froze at the sharp, cold presence of a knife pressing to his throat. “ _ Now walk.” _

Trevor kept his mouth carefully closed, squeezing it to keep in the sobs rocking his lungs. One step, then another. One foot, then the other. He could do this, he could do this, he just needed to listen. He saw what this  _ thing  _ was capable of, and he wouldn’t set him off if he could help it. He breathed shakily through his nose, moving slowly and purposefully, keeping his neck still. He didn’t want to drive the blade in by accident. 

The walk was long and uncomfortable, but when it was over, he was forced into a grimey-looking room. His eyes first fell on a long, blood-splattered curtain that cut the room in half, and followed it down to a bed. In the bed, he saw something terrifying; it was another man, and his face was a mess of red, swollen flesh and bandages around his nose, lips split in multiple areas with slightly swelling eyes. The worst part was that he  _ recognised _ the other man. It was Davie, and he was absolutely  _ covered  _ in wounds. He could see just up to his neck, but the damage was clear. God, if this is what happened to Davie in TWO days…

He let out a long, drawn out whine, and the masked man behind him pushed him forward. “Please don’t hurt me!” Trevor begged, but the man just seemed to get more aggressive, shoving him back and forth.

They passed the curtain, and Trevor saw another trunk. This one was brown.”‘NO! NO, PLEASE!”

Trevor was kicked from behind as he began to struggle, and he fell to his knees. “PLEASE DON’T PUT ME BACK IN A BOX!”

“ _ Shut, your, FUCKING,  _ **_MOUTH!”_ ** The masked man forced him down, holding him down as Trevor skittered around in fear. 

He punched Trevor in the middle of his back over and over again, and Trevor screamed, one hit in particular knocking his breath out of him. When he finally went limp, aching and panting for air, the Collector dragged over the brown trunk, unlatching it. Then, he stood, pulling the weak young man halfway up, tossing him in the trunk. “Please,” Trevor whimpered, his legs forced in above him. The man looked down at him with cold eyes.

“ _ Shhhhhh.” _

The lid closed above him, and he sobbed in the darkness.

“Please.”

…

Jim tapped his fingers against the table, his feet shuffling back and forth a bit. Hodge has brought him to the station, set him up in an interrogation room, taken his gun, and left him there. That had been fifteen minutes earlier. Finally,  **FINALLY,** the door re-opened, and a detective he didn’t recognise stepped inside. Jim was angry. “Who are you? Who was the body in my house? Is my son okay?!”

He smacked the table, but decided against standing. He recognised this. He had been on the opposite side of this table too many times to remember. It was actually insulting to be here, but for now, he needed to find his son. He needed to find his son, dammit! “Officer Harling, there’s a 10-65 out on your son, we have as many units as we can spare searching. For now, I need you to speak with me.”

Jim  _ knew,  _ he  _ knew  _ he was being interviewed in connection with whatever the Hell was going on. He couldn’t take it. He felt tears come to his eyes. “He’s alive? You know for sure he didn’t die in the fire?”

The man sat down across from him, pulling out a photo from his file. He glanced between the two, then tossed it over. Jim breathes out heavily at what he saw. Blood. Blood was all over his living room carpet and couch, centred around the body of his friend, Jeff Parkins. His throat was cut deep, and he could see some of the inner veins peeking through the large slit on his neck. There wasn’t any fire damage on him. Someone had attacked him before setting fire to the house. “What about Trevor?” He asked, his voice rough. He just wanted to cry. God, he hadn’t felt like this since his mother’s death!

“We didn’t find him. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, but we  _ did  _ find a small amount of his blood in his room. We think he was taken.”

Jim closed his eyes, lips trembling as he took a breath. He was alive for now. “Officer Harling, do you know about the Jigsaw murders?”

He looked up at the man across from him. “What?”

“The Jigsaw murders. Do you know about them?”

Jim scoffed, eyes watery. “Are you joking? Every officer in America knows about the Jigsaw murders. What the Hell do they have to do with all of this?”

  
The man raised a hand toward him. “Calm down.  _ WE  _ believe...that the recent murders may be connected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:smut, and maybe some more plot.


	33. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so some smut! I plan for more in the next chapter, but for now, enjoy!

Arkin was tense as he heard the door to his room open again. He slowly tilted his head, and he saw the masked man walking toward him. He looked away, knowing what was about to happen, preparing himself for the next awful hour of his life. He felt the man as he stopped at his side, looming over him, then leaned down to undo his handcuffs. Arkin didn’t dare move; this man had gone so far as to track down his parole officer, pissing him off any further was a death threat to more than just himself.

When his hands were free, the man moved down to his legs, and Arkin wondered if he could even begin to walk on his own. The Collector uncuffed his ankles one at a time, keeping a hold on his legs firmly, then moved back up across Arkin’s body, surprisingly gentle as he helped him sit up. Then, he slid an arm under his knees, cradling Arkin’s shoulders with his other, lifting him like a small child.

The ex-convict blinked in shock, too weak to do more than lean into the murderer carrying him. He hated himself for not trying to put some distance between them, hated that this seemed so nice when this man had, in fact, tortured him and many others. This wasn’t  **_nice_ ** , this was a means to an end. This man wanted to fuck him, to humiliate him, to destroy his dignity; carrying him to his next torture session was not  **_nice._ ** Still, he stayed silent, just focusing on his frantically beating heart and the headache forming behind his eyes. God, was there no rest for him? Would the rest of his life just be pain?

The Collector could tell Arkin wasn’t entirely there. He was staring at his knees, and his eyes were slightly glassy and unfocused. He couldn’t do anything more for Arkin. He was trying to feed him, trying to keep him warm and clean, but it was clear the man was suffering from his time in captivity. He needed to be seen by a doctor. What could he even do? As he began to plan and worry over it all, he reached the door to the bathroom. Leaning down, he opened the door with one hand, then pushed it open with his foot, stepping in and closing it with his heel. He set Arkin in the tub, stepping away for a moment as he locked the door and grabbed some supplies. He didn’t want Arkin to have any tearing this time, so he needed to have some proper lubricant. He set the soap and lubricant on the ground beside the tube, then set towels around for after.

Arkin watched him. He knew what he was preparing for, and he knew what would happen if he pulled any stupid stunts like last time. Shit, he was  **_FUCKED._ ** He clenched one fist, his freezing fingers pressing against the swell of his palm. He was so cold all the time now. He was cold and ached and felt heavy and light at the same time, it was awful. Worst of all was the weakness. He hadn’t ever felt so weak, so helpless and exhausted, not even when he couldn’t sleep through a week because he had so much work. This was the worst he had ever felt in his life.

He looked back up as the masked man began to strip, taking his mask off, then his shirt and gloves, finally moving down to his shoes and socks, then his pants and briefs. He stood naked across from Arkin, who was tensely keeping his eyes firmly locked with his captor’s. He knew this was going to happen, but he wanted so badly for it not to be real! The man took two steps closer, then leaned over Arkin, cradling his face firmly and diving in for an intense kiss, attacking his lips and tongue with animalistic force. Arkin was so startled, he almost fell back, only to be pulled closer by his collar. He pushed and fought back with his mouth, nipping at his tongue, trying to turn his mouth away.

The Collector pulled back, panting a bit, and Arkin was not pleased to see the predatory look across the man’s face. The unmasked man glanced down, then said, “ _ Take off your clothes, we need to take out the last of your stitches.” _

Arkin had forgotten about the stitches. To be honest, he didn’t know how or when he had gotten them, but he was grateful that he hadn’t been left with gaping holes in his skin that would have easily gotten infected. Slowly, Arkin began the process of trying to take his shirt off, but his hands shook and he couldn’t bring his arms up past his shoulders. He painstakingly got one arm, then the other free, and did his best to free his head, failing again and again. Finally, the Collector reached out and pulled the shirt free, mouth in a tight line. “ _ Where’s all that strength from before?”  _ He said tersely, leaning down and pulling at the sweatpants around Arkin’s hips.

Arkin jumped at the touch, pressing back into the opposite edge of the tub, steadying himself with his shaking arms as his legs were adjusted, his pants being taken. Then, he sat there, naked and vulnerable in front of the unmasked man, who ignored him and folded his clothes. He watched the other man, and his stomach twisted; how the Hell was he going to escape? This man was huge, and he was absolutely meticulous, down to folding the clothes he was wearing. Meanwhile, he was weak, exhausted, and couldn’t even keep his plan straight! How was he supposed to get out of here? His lungs felt heavy, and he was taking short, frequent breaths. He didn’t want to be here. He missed Lisa, he missed Cindy! 

The Collector turned around, and he could see the pain and confusion across Arkin’s face. And he  _ hated  _ it. He didn’t understand why he had such strong feelings of discomfort whenever Arkin looked upset, but he wanted it to be gone. He reached down, stretching his fingers across the half-healed bruises on Arkin’s neck, feeling the warm, pliant flesh. Arkin tried to pull his head away, but the murderer tightened his hands slightly, a warning. Arkin sat tensely, glaring at the man, but the Collector didn’t pay it any attention, focusing only on the heartbeat under his palms. It was so fast and fragile, and if he squeezed just a bit tighter, he could break bone and stop that pulse permanently.

But he didn’t  _ want  _ it to stop.

He wanted Arkin to stay, and not just to prove to himself he caught the little motherfucker, to delight in his victory. If that were all it was, he should have been similarly obsessed with the little shit from the bowling alley, but he only felt irritation and hatred for the young man. He slid his thumbs up and cradled Arkin’s face, pressing their foreheads together. Arkin’s eyebrows knit together in shock, and he let out a soft gasp. “What are you…”

“ _ Shhh. Just, just stay like this.” _

It was startling to both how small the Collector’s voice sounded. It was almost like he...scared. The Collector didn’t want to admit it, but he...he...wasn’t completely unaffected by feelings of  _ care  _ and  _ affection.  _ He LIKED Arkin. He liked him enough to not want him to be in pain, to want him to  _ like  _ him in return. 

Shit.

He swooped in, pressing small, short pecks on Arkin’s lips, licking into his mouth and rubbing their tongues together in a passionate, quick battle. Arkin lifted his arms, shivering and shaking, feebly pushing against the Collector’s chest. There was something deeper and more desperate in these kisses, and it left Arkin feeling equally as desperate to get away. He tried to crawl to the side, but the larger man only stepped into the tub, hunkering down onto Arkin, far too close in the cramped tub as he settled in between his knees. One large, bare hand slid from his knee down his thigh, massaging his hipbone before gripping one firm asscheek. 

Arkin jolted at the touch, finally pulling his face away. “The FUCK! Stop, man, sto-“ he couldn’t finish his protests as his mouth was attacked again.

The Collector squeezed and rubbed at his asscheek, digging his fingers into the fleshy muscles there. He let his other hand trail down to Arkin’s back as the weaker man pressed at his chest and face, freezing over the thin knots of stitches. Right. He needed to take out the stitches. He needed to find out who-

**_Who the FUCK is Jim?_ **

Fire licked up his stomach, and the desperation quickly turned to fury and (was that?) jealousy. He pulled away, sneering angrily, but reining it in. He released Arkin, moving back almost too quickly. For a moment, he caught sight of the other man’s heaving chest and flushed face, all fantastically on display beneath him, but he stood, quickly reaching for a pair of manicure scissors to cut the stitches. He kept an eye on Arkin, who slowly and shakily righted himself, and he noticed how Arkin’s breathing didn’t smooth out immediately, like it would for most healthy people. It was laboured. Shit. SHIT, SHIT,  **SHIT!** What the  _ fuck  _ was even wrong with him?

He pushed away the anger, working his jaw carefully. It was so hard to keep his feelings in control with Arkin; it was like the man had built a flame inside him, and every breath only made it grow larger. Anything he did-

He pushed away the thoughts. He needed to focus. The stitches. Then he could ask about  _ fucking  _ **_JIM-_ **

_ Stupid, ungrateful,  _ **_fucking WHORE,_ ** _ how DARE HE? Bet he fucked him, bet Arkin leaned over and begged  _ **_JIM_ ** _ for it- _

**FOCUS.**

Arkin’s head shot up when he heard something crash, and what sounded like shattering glass. The Collector had his head down, and had firmly thrown something across the room. What looked like the remains of a cup had stayed standing, the top edges now jagged points. He looked back to the Collector, eyes wide and searching for danger. 

The Collector’s mind was hazy, almost like he was drugged, and he felt like the world was going red.  **FOCUS. FOCUS. FOCUS, DAMMIT!** He raised a hand, his fingers shaking.  _ How dare that, that... _ **_JIM_ ** _...even LOOK at what belonged to him? _

He glanced over at Arkin, and the anger spiked. As if he could hear every word he thought, the man was watching him, face guarded.  **_MINE._ ** _ I need to mark him, make sure everyone  _ **_knows_ ** _ , make sure  _ **_HE_ ** _ knows- _

He turned to Arkin, a faint smirk pulling his mouth into an ugly sneer. Arkin settled back, eyes wide, lips tightening, taking in a deep, startled breath.

**_MINE._ **

_... _

Arkin felt the cool heat of adrenaline raising in his lungs and stomach, and it gave him the strength to try and push himself up. Maybe he could back away, maybe he could grab the remains of the cup to defend himself, maybe-

Maybe meant shit when the Collector was angry. He gagged as he was caught by the throat, choking on his trapped breath, the Collector going for his shoulder, biting down hard. The sensation was excruciating, somewhere between having his skin sliced and forcibly torn, sinking deep into his flesh. He let out a long, low scream, long nails digging at the unmasked man’s stomach. His hand was useless, though, and the pain only deepened. He wanted to scream more, to beg him to stop, to do anything more, but his breath was gone, and his head was pounding with pressure. The Collector held him for a second or two longer, then released him entirely, letting him collapse in front of him. Arkin coughed and whimpered, tears springing to his eyes as he curled up, reaching for his shoulder before pulling away, afraid how much touching it would hurt.

He kept his head down as the man stood over him, a low chuckle making it all the worse. This mother fucker thought it was funny?  _ Fuck  _ him! He grit his teeth, slowly raising his head, but he stopped, shocked at how close the man’s legs were. They were only a few inches away from him, and he was horrified of what he would see if he looked any further. “ _ Look at me,  _ **_Arkin,_ ** _ ” _ the unmasked man murmured, but Arkin shook his head sharply.  **Fuck NO.**

The Collector sighed, grabbing Arkin’s hair, yanking it back and forcing his captive’s mouth against his thigh, just to the side of his half-hard cock. “ _ We need to have a conversation,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ Here’s how this is going to go; I’ll shove my cock down your throat and ask you who  _ **_JIM_ ** _ is, and if you lie, I’ll cum inside. Tell the truth, and I’ll cum somewhere else. Understand?” _

Arkin glared up at the man, but his arms shook in fear. He couldn’t fight, and he didn’t want to have some guy’s fucking cum in his mouth! Still, he shouldn’t just fucking give in, right? Right? He shivered, mouth working silently against the Collector’s thigh, finally looking away. Shit, he couldn’t figure out which was worse, giving in, or fighting and losing more of himself? So, as the Collector pulled his head back, pressing his cock against Arkin’s lips, Arkin hesitantly patted his lips, closing his eyes and trying his best to not take deep breaths. He just needed to get out of this, to survive and throw this monster of a man in jail where he can rot. Above him, the Collector smiled, slowly sliding inside the hot, wet cavern of the weaker man’s mouth. It was even more arousing because Arkin gave in, was hesitant and shy like he had never done this before, had been taken like this.

For the murderer, it was amazing and sloppy and hot and wet and yes, yes, yes! 

For the ex-convict, it was a nightmare. The taste was salty and slightly bitter, and he hated it and it was so much larger than what he thought it would be, and it was getting harder and larger,  **_SHIT!_ ** He choked a bit, pulling away, and the Collector thankfully let him, spit dripping down onto his thighs. “ _ Time to start our little... _ **_conversation_ ** _.” _

He brought Arkin’s mouth back up, and rubbed the tip of his head against his lips, leaving a sticky residue in small patches, before sinking back in, slowly and shallowly fucking in and out. He smirked as Arkin grabbed his legs, eyes closed and mouth twisted in disgust, chest heaving as he choked a few times. “ _ Now,”  _ he said, pausing as he slowly pressed his hips forward. “ _ Who is Jim?” _

He pulled back, letting his dick slip out while Arkin coughed, head falling against the Collector's leg. After a few seconds of deep breaths, Arkin looked up, panting. He had drool sliding down his chin, and his mouth was firmly closed, but he hesitantly spoke. “He’s...he’s my parole officer.”

Same story. Okay, that could be true. “ _ Why is there a picture of you in his house?” _

Arkin looked confused. “I didn’t know there was…”

The Collector was not satisfied with that answer. “ _ What, you gonna fucking say you didn’t know? You and your  _ **_daughter_ ** _ were in the picture, Arkin. Why would there be a picture of  _ **_you?”_ **

Arkin was feeling panicked. He didn’t know what would happen if the Collector wanted to kill everyone associated with, but it wouldn’t be good. He needed to come up with a good explanation  **now.** “He-! He and I became friends! He made sure my family was doing okay when I was behind bars! When I got out, he was assigned to check on me, and I took Cin- I took my daughter to a few barbecues. I didn’t have any money to get her things or throw parties, and Jim helped me! That’s all!”

Arkin hoped it was enough. He was too weak to defend himself against this monstrous man, and he couldn’t really protect Jim, either. He was most worried that his little baby, his Cindy would be dragged into this. Her and Lisa, crawling around through razor wire and traps...crying and fighting to get out...God, it was awful. He would let this man do anything he wanted if it kept them safe, if it kept his little girl safe. “I promise. That’s all.”

He didn’t even understand why this man cared so much about Jim. He hadn’t talked with him in nearly a month when he was taken, and he had no idea how long it had been since then, so it could be two months for all he knew. Suddenly, Jim and his son were on the chopping block? It didn’t make any fucking sense! The Collector seemed to pull over what he said, and fingers pried at his lips, the hot head of a cock pressed in, and he held on as his mouth was thoroughly fucked.

Above him, the Collector studied Arkin’s face, the way his cheeks were pulled taut and his lips were stretched around his dick, saliva slipping out and splattering across Arkin’s collarbone. His eyes were tightly closed, and he was pressed against the Collector's legs for support. The position was  _ very  _ vulnerable, weak and fully at the unmasked man’s mercy, and he felt that stubborn, abhorrent  _ jealousy  _ cool.  _ He’s  _ **_mine,_ ** _ look at him, he didn’t even fight!  _

It left him with a deep, delicious wave of pleasure, strong enough to make him pull back, holding Arkin’s head as he rubbed his cock against Arkin’s lips. “ _ I’ll forgive you this time,”  _ he murmured out, sliding his fingers up and down his shaft, jerking quickly, groaning in ecstasy as his orgasm hummed up into his stomach, shivering through his core, cum shooting across Arkin’s lips and up his face, clumping into his bangs and cheeks, the man turning his face away and gagging as the bitter taste of semen touched his tongue.  _ Shit, fucking  _ **_disgusting!_ **

The Collector pulled his face back, smirking down at him, face cruel and delighted. “ _ You’ll never be free of me,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ Not ever again.” _

Arkin grit his teeth, holding in the angry spew of curses on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to deny what the man was saying, wanted to scream he was  _ wrong,  _ but he couldn’t. 

Because, in some, small way, he knew the man was right. He would never be the same. Not after what this man did to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this might get a bit confusing, but I do want to write this as two men both spiralling. I think it makes more sense this way. Also, Arkin is so NOT getting what is going on, and I LKVE writing that! I don’t think he’ll get it until closer to the end of this particular story. Until next time!


	34. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some hot smut for you all! Hope you enjoy!;) 
> 
> As a side warning: rape is never acceptable or okay, but as long as we understand that, fantasy is only fantasy.
> 
> If anyone knows someone in a dangerous or unhealthy situation or is struggling with one themselves, please contact the proper authorities.
> 
> Consent is always needed.
> 
> Now on to the sexy stuff!

The Collector let Arkin go, reach over to turn on the faucet. He knew the water would be cold at first, and smirked when Arkin shivered, slightly tensing. He waited for the water to start warming, testing it with his fingers before finally pressing the stopper down, blocking the water. He settled in behind Arkin, pressing him forward and taking in his back, searching the pink, healing flesh. It was puckered in some places, smooth in others, but none of the torn skin was left open. It was all closed, and he was satisfied to see there was no bright redness of infection or yellowed pus spilling out. He let his fingers run over the mended skin, feeling each of the dark stitches left inside. He reached out of the tub to the floor, finding the tiny manicure scissors, and pushed Arkin further forward.

Arkin tried to right himself, not willing to have the man just force him up so he could have his fun. He was a man, dammit! Even with cum on his face…

“ _ Don’t move, brace yourself. I need to take out your stitches. You move, I might just slice open your back again.” _

Arkin could tell it was a promise, not just a threat, so he begrudgingly set his whole body diagonally to the faucet, setting his forearms against the edge of the tub. Then, he breathed in and out, deeply, doing his best not to tense at the touch of fingers plucking at his back. Behind him, the Collector was pulling at the stitches, moving then back and forth, tugging them free of the healed skin, leaving the tiny holes aching and itchy, even as a spot of blood welled up and dropped glistening down. Then, the Collector opened the scissors, sliding one side of the slim metal under the cord, snipping through it with one hand, quickly pulling the thread with the other, another drip of blood flowing down.

Arkin’s jaw shuddered slightly. It hurt, but it wasn’t like being punched or even stabbed. It was small and sharp, close to the surface, and it made him want to scratch his skin right off. He began to shake as the man went for the next stitch, the heat of the water causing him to sweat while his back began to chill. He shut his eyes as the next stitch was pulled, and he felt himself go in and out of focus, the pain slowly fading away.

The Collector pulled out each and every stitch quickly, wanting to be done with it. Small tracks of blood dripped down the length of Arkin’s back, and he had gone from tense and shaky to pliant and limp. He reached around, turning off the faucet, the water nearly to his ribs, and he pulled Arkin back against him, his skin sweaty, his back clammy. Arkin’s eyes fluttered as moved, and he leaned into the Collector, shaking his head and groaning. Blood smeared between them as Arkin tried to push himself up, only managing to drag himself further into the larger man’s lap, rubbing his ass against the flaccid penis there.

The Collector let out a hiss of breath, jolting up, water splashing out slightly, one hand on the edge of the tub, the other firmly holding Arkin against him. Arkin took deep breaths, blinking furiously, looking around in confusion. When had he moved? He didn’t remember. He flinched at hot breath against his tender shoulder, and squirmed as a single finger slid down and perked his nipple. “ _ Already rubbing against me? What a good boy,”  _ the Collector said in a deep rumble, his free hand going down to grip Arkin’s hip.

The water was almost suffocatingly hot, and the hands touching him were strange and comforting. Touch was so rare, and even rarer was gentleness, and the fingers were massaging soreness and pain away. He shuddered, hands moving under the water to weakly grip the Collector’s arms, but he didn’t pull at them. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He was a bit dazed, and the warmth of the water left him feeling gooey. He sighed, eyes sliding closed, nose scrunched up as he smelt the scent of sex still smeared across his face. “Can you clean it off now…” he mumbled, and the Collector hummed, adjusting Arkin to sit directly over his hardening dick.

With one hand, the unmasked man reached for a bar of soap, bringing it under the water and lathering it against Arkin’s chest. With his other hand, he reached up and firmly took hold of his jaw, shushing the man as he started. Then, he brought the soap up, sliding it against the weaker man’s jaw and cheek opposite the drying cum. When he felt he had gotten enough soap on his hand and Arkin’s face, the Collector dropped the soap into the water, reaching out and cautiously scooping and scratching away the strands on decorating his nose and cheek, even wiping some off his upper jaw, in the section of upper lip between his mouth and nose. He rinsed his hand clean, and soaped up the area, finally bringing a handful of water up to wash away the soap, starting on his hair.

The process was almost novel for the Collector; he had never explored being this gentle with anyone but Abby, and even then, he had never been like  _ this  _ with her. She was like a child to him, in need of his protection and guidance. Arkin, well, Arkin needed him, but it was different. Arkin was so sly and slippery, and even thinking about him could derail what the murderer had planned. It was as if his existence was just to be difficult for others, in particular the Collector, and it drew him in as much as it infuriated him. He liked these moments most, though: quiet moments where Arkin would lean into him and stay still. He liked the way Arkin just did as he was told in those moments, the way he stopped fighting him for a minute and let himself be helped. 

It was strange to find anyone so difficult magnetising, but something told him this was normal for Arkin, and for that reason, he felt a deep mistrust for ANY other person that would meet him. Aside from Abby, no one could be trusted, and Arkin was too blind to what he was. The Collector helped him lean his head back into the water, scrubbing out the soap, mulling over this as he watched Arkin’s brow smooth. Arkin’s relaxed face showed off just how tired he was, his under eyes almost looking bruised while his cheeks had a faint touch of colour from the heat, all too pale and skinny. He looked ill. He slowly brought Arkin’s head back up, and settled him back against him, letting his hands roam his down to his hips. “ _ It’s time to take it like a man,  _ **_Arkin._ ** ”

Arkin has just begun to drift off when these words brought him back to wakefulness. He started, the feeling of hands on his hips causing his heart to raise. “Shit, haven’t you had enough?” He grumbled, jerking as one hand slid down his thigh to prod at his hole.

“ _ And leave you unsated?”  _

He tensed and grabbed at the arm as one finger tried to push in, and it burned just slightly, far too tight. “Stop, stop-!” Arkin shouted, lifting his hips slightly to try and move away, and the Collector pulled his hand back, making a small noise of contemplation.

“ _ Perhaps water isn’t the best way to prepare you,”  _ the unmasked man breathed into his ear, suddenly shuffling and pushing off him and further toward the faucet head, standing and stepping out of the tub. Arkin watched him go, eyes dropping to the tiny, curved scissors on the back edge of the tub. They looked extremely sharp, and while they were tiny, Arkin was sure they would do the job if he hit him in the right place. He could hide them in his palm, and when the man leaned down to pull him out of the water, he could stab him in the jugular or one of his eyes. Then, when he pushed him away, he could get out of the tub and go for the broken glass on the counter behind him, and he could stab the man again and again and again…

He started as he was firmly grabbed by his injured shoulder, wincing and hissing out in pain. He let his eyes travel up, up, up, to where the Collector leaned down over him, his eyes hard, staring at him.

Waiting.

Arkin glanced back to the scissors, then the man’s face, and he thought about what could happen. He would grab the scissors, and the man would grab his hair, pulling his head back. He would go to stab the man, but he would just have his hand caught, and the murderer would use his own hand to plunge the scissors into his neck. No getting out of the tub, no getting to the broken cup, no surviving. He would not be strong enough to fight off the man on his own, and he wouldn’t have the element of surprise on his side. He looked back to the man, pressing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head.  _ No. _

_ No, I won’t do it. Not right now. _

Above him, the Collector’s eyes widened and his pupils contracted, and a faint grin pulled at the man’s lips. Arkin prayed he made the right fucking choice to get out of here.

…

The Collector had almost forgotten about the manicure scissors when he had finished drying himself off, so when he turned and saw Arkin staring at them, he felt a flash of anger. Dammit, he thought they had made it past the ridiculous attempts to escape! Arkin’s eyes were a bit glassy as he stared at them, and he decided to assert himself over his hostage, let him know he saw. He reached down and took hold of Arkin’s injured shoulder, purposely brushing the bruise to grab his attention. That seemed to snap Arkin out of his daze, and he looked up at him, eyes cautious and hesitant. He glanced over to the scissors, and the Collector watched, waited. He needed to see what Arkin would do.

The other man took only a couple seconds to look away from the scissors, and instead of just dropping his head, he looked right up into the Collector’s face and shook his head. He looked frustrated and tired, but he kept his jaw firm. It was a choice, a choice to concede. He hadn’t forced the man to give in, Arkin had assessed the situation and  _ chosen  _ **_him._ ** He felt a rush of pleasure tingling his spine, and a faint smile breaking across his face.  _ What a good boy. He chose  _ **_ME._ **

The Collector leaned down and helped lift Arkin from under his armpits, hands caught together against his chest. Carefully, he brought Arkin back, removing him from the tub one leg at a time, slowly settling him on the ground. Then, he began to rub him down with a towel, slowly creeping closer and closer, finally settling chest-to-chest. He breathed down onto Arkin’s face, nose almost brushing his cheek. 

Arkin kept his eyes half-lidded, not wanting to look up at the murderer, his stomach already twisting into knots. He knew what was going to happen.  **_SHIT._ **

The Collector let the towel slip out of his hands, sliding them up the back of his arms, eyes glancing over the curve of Arkin’s jaw, leaning down and breathing deeply into his neck, gripping him tightly as he tried to pull away. “ _ You were so good right there,”  _ he murmured, licking the damp skin of Arkin’s neck, pushing him back carefully and looming over him.

Arkin thought about pulling his arms away, but he didn’t. He wasn’t anyone else’s bitch, he always fought for his own way, but now, that would only put his family in danger to keep fighting. And unlike last time, he couldn’t justify pissing off his captor with his pride; the man seemed to get off on forcing him to do awful, humiliating things, but right now, he was more interested in licking and sucking on Arkin’s neck while he explored his stomach and chest, mapping him...

Arkin’s heart stuttered at that thought. Why? Why the  _ fuck  _ was this guy touching him all over? Was it to humiliate him? To find more places to shove a knife in? Or was it something else? The Collector had been aggressive and forceful with him since they were in that damned house, but now, he was being all too soft, only hitting him when he fought back or questioned him. It was different. He gasped as the larger man began to rub and press at his nipples, sending jolts of discomfort up and down his spine. “S-sto-“

He lost his breath as a knee pressed between his legs, right up against his testicles, and a spine of pleasure left his legs weak. Nononononono-

_ -The man was above him, sneering through his mask and squeezing his wrist, eyes wild and almost glowing. What did he do, why was he being attacked like this?- _

_ -The flesh in his mouth was too big, too long. It almost choked him anytime the man shoved it in. It was so bitter and salty, and his eyes were burning, and  _ **_please, please don’t fucking CUM in my mouth, PLEASE-_ **

What the fuck was wrong with this man? What was wrong with Arkin, who was excusing this awful behavior?  _ Only hit me when I questioned him? He fucking  _ **_kidnapped ME!_ ** _ Why am I excusing that? I don’t deserve any of this!  _ Still, he refused to move his exhausted body. He didn’t get it, he was disgusted by what was happening, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen.  _ What’s wrong with me? _

The Collector was panting in pleasure, hot breath raising goosebumps across Arkin’s shoulder and back. He pulled back, reaching out blindly behind him, hissing when he didn’t find the small container. He sat back on his knees, turning and grabbing the bottle, popping it open. “ _ Time to stop beating around the bush,”  _ the Collector said, dragging Arkin closer by his hips, pressing between his legs.

Arkin finally found his voice. “Wait, shit!” He wanted to scramble back, but he only ended up half-propped up on his elbows, arms shaking fiercely. 

He didn’t like what he saw.

The man over him was  _ very  _ hard, and seemed to be all too ready to just fuck him into the ground. His breathing got sharper, and he tried to think of a way out, some other way to get out of this. He didn’t want to be fucked, didn’t want to have a man taking advantage of him, why did these things keep happening? The man poured lubricant directly onto the space between his asscheeks, putting the container down and prying it open. His stomach shuddered, and he shut his eyes as the man began rubbing at his hole. Phantom flashes of pain from the first time had him nearly hysterical; he was gasping and clawing at the towels, hips shifting in discomfort as a single finger pushed in, rubbing at the walls to try and lessen the burn there. “Nonononononono,” he half-screamed, trying to hold in the sobs. Somewhere along the line, he had lost some of his fight.

He shook, one hand snapping out to take hold of the Collector’s arm. He dug his nails in deeply, the only form of fighting he could allow right now.  _ What the fuck is wrong with me? _

The unmasked man looked down on his captive, melting a little at the shivering mess he was. More than that, Arkin refused to fight back against him. Sure he was fidgeting and had been chanting no for the last minute, but this was  _ nothing.  _ Arkin was just like him; a hissing, snarling man who hit to hurt and aimed to escape. But now…

“ _ What a  _ **_good boy.”_ **

Arkin jerked as a second finger was shoved in, his hole slick but far too tight for that. His back arched, and he let out a strangled gasp, his legs and ass tensed firmly. “Sh-it,” he whimpered through the word, hating that familiar, deep pain that left him feeling like a noodle.

The Collector let out a slow breath at how tightly his captive’s hole squeezed around his fingers, excitement building at the base of his spine. “ _ Relax. It’ll only hurt more if you don’t,”  _ he breathed, working his fingers in and out, searching around. This would be so much easier if he could find Arkin’s prostate, and then the man would loosen up quickly.

Suddenly, he pressed again a small bump inside the man beneath him, and Arkin’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open. He clenched reflexively around the fingers, but had relaxed significantly more, enough that the unmasked man could twist his fingers and slide them in and out easily. The Collector smirked, staring at Arkin’s half-hard erection, pressing and rubbing the little bud inside him again and again.

Arkin didn’t know whether it was pleasant or slightly painful. The sensation was deep and right through his centre, making him jolt and tremble, jaw shivering. He could barely breathe with the tingling crawling up inside him, building all too familiarly. “No, stop, stop!” He shouted, trying to pull the Collector’s hand away.

He was a bit surprised when it actually worked. The unmasked man slid his fingers free, but he only pulled Arkin closer, the slippery lubricant feeling almost grimy on his skin. “ _ You’re being so good for me,”  _ the Collectors growled out, leaning over Arkin, arms on either side of his head. “ _ Be good a little longer, and I promise you’ll like it just as much as I do.” _

Hot, slick flesh pressed in between Arkin’s cheeks, right up to his entrance. Before Arkin could do more than take in a deep, choking breath, it was pushing in, long and hard and  _ large.  _ Why, oh, God, why? “Shit, fuck, God, stop, stop-“

The Collector didn’t care; he pressed in completely and didn’t even give him time to adjust before he pulled back out halfway, thrusting back in. “ _ Good boy, what a good boy,”  _ he groaned, ignoring the man scratching at his chest. “ _ You’re mine,  _ **_Arkin. MINE._ ** _ Just take it, take it and  _ **_enjoy it.”_ **

Arkin was NOT enjoying it. He gasped and pushed and scratched and pulled, but nothing would get the man off of him. He was cramped and hot inside, and there was no way this would feel goo-

**Oh, God, right there, there!**

Arkin let out a startled shout, holding onto the man above him, pulling him closer at the same time he dug his nails in deep. Before, it was strange and both painful and pleasant when the man touched his prostate. Now, though...it was like stars were dancing behind his eyes. “F...uck,” he groaned, back arching, trying to hit there again.

_ Shit, shit, shit, what the  _ **_FUCK_ ** _ am I doing?  _ Arkin couldn’t stop himself from holding on for dear life for the sudden pleasure. It was warm, and it felt  _ so good  _ and he was filled with disgust. How could he let himself  _ enjoy  _ this? 

The Collector thrust harder, leaning even closer down toward Arkin. It was all the better with the smaller man actively enjoying it, holding him closer as he shouted for him to stop, moaning for him. He gripped his hips, slamming them as close together as he could, going as deeply as possible. Each thrust rubbed the two of them together deliciously, Arkin adjusting his ass so that it rubbed his prostate deeply. He was being so honest this time, and the Collector was able to be gentler, softer…

He sucked on Arkin’s collarbone, trailing down to one of his nipples, nipping at it. Arkin dragged his nails across the other man’s back. With a firm growl, the Collector forced Arkin’s legs higher, hips thrusting quicker. It was like he opened the floodgates on the sounds Arkin could make. He let out curses and moans and little whimpers, even biting to silence them. Nothing could have made it better. Finally, he groaned, gripping Arkin’s thighs and holding him close, hips shivering and thrusting wildly. Arkin jolted, tossing his head back at the molten heat suddenly spilling inside of him, one large hand reaching down and grabbing his cock, firmly tugging it again and again.

Arkin was scared. He wasn’t just disgusted, he was  _ scared.  _ It felt so good, it was almost mind-numbing, and he was afraid he would do anything to stay like this. He was afraid he was losing himself to this man, little by little. This wasn’t him, none of this was him! So, as he came, as he felt overwhelming pleasure in every nerve, he screamed right in the other man’s face. 

“I HATE YOU!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know it might seem a LITTLE strange for him to be so much...weaker, but after studying long term effects of hostage situations and abuse, it just felt like it needed to be done. I really care about portraying violence as what it is, and I think it just makes better characters. This problem is going to persist, by the way, so Arkin’s decisions really matter! He hasn’t changed, he just wants to survive. Tell me what you think!


	35. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here with another chapter. This one and probably the next two are more filler/setup for what is the second movie, so be excited.:) Also, some confused abuse this and next chapter! Enjoy!

Jim blinked a few times, head tilting in disbelief. “I’m sorry. What?”

The man across from him looked wary, but he opened his mouth to explain. “Are you being serious? You...you think this could be related to…”

Jim sank back, head hanging lifelessly behind him. “The Jigsaw killer. My son...how could it be? I mean, kids died, Trevor didn’t say it was a test, how…?”

He was silent just long enough for the man to stand. Jim glanced up at him, shying away unconscious. A missing son, a mass murderer, all somehow connected to his parolee and the Jigsaw killings? How could he ever feel safe near anyone ever again? He clearly put too much faith in his fellow man. So why should he trust this man? “Officer Harling, we aren’t sure if this  _ is  _ the Jigsaw killer. There are so many dead, and we found them absolutely destroyed, but it isn’t a perfect fit. Things aren’t neat here. If it isn’t him, every man, woman and child is in danger in this country because that means we have two extremely calculating, extremely intelligent men out there massacring the public.”

Jim’s head ached. Was it better if his son’s kidnapper was or wasn’t Jigsaw, he didn’t know. All he knew was that his son was missing, and he badly wanted to go out there and start looking. “I don’t care who this man is, I need to go back out there and find him. He took my son,” Jim faltered for a moment, his voice breaking. “I just want to get back my son!”

The man across from him had been rather passive the whole time, his placating feeling empty; now, though, his face shifted, mouth firmly set and eyes scrunched. He looked like he was holding back anger, but he didn’t direct it toward Jim, instead, he looked to the side, hands clenched together tightly. He carefully spoke, like he was trying not to say something he badly wanted to. “I’ve...I’ve seen whole families dragged into some of Jigsaw’s games. I’ve had to tell children their mom or dad won’t be coming back. I’ve seen what this does to people. I don’t want you to go out there, looking for a killer, and end up dying. Worse, you might see what that monster did to him. You’re too close to this situation, we need you to stay here and tell us anything you know about what happened to you son.”

The man stood, buttoning the front of his suit and turning for the door. “Who the hell are you?” Jim finally asked, watching as the man stopped.

He turned half-way, looking grim. “The name’s Steven Sing. We’ll talk another time.”

And with that, he stepped out of the room, leaving an exhausted and tense father behind.

…

The Collector went from absolute, blissful pleasure to sinking, empty coldness. Arkin was clenching his shoulders, but he had pushed himself away, trying to touch him as little as he could.

**_I hate you._ **

Rage. Pure rage. It boiled in his stomach, right where the pleasure had been centred, scratching and crawling right up into his lungs. He leaned back, chest expanding and contracting and he flexed his arms, shaking up his back and right between his shoulders, leaving his entire body feeling tight. Arkin had his eyes shut, head tilted to the side, a few love bites leaving dark red little spots on his neck, trailing down his chest. He was panting, and creamy white semen was splashed across the bottom of his stomach, legs open and inviting to the man above him. 

**_I hate you!_ **

He grabbed Arkin by the upper arms, clenching him tightly and jerking him up slightly. He was still inside the smaller man, and he felt Arkin tighten slightly at the move, blinking his eyes open sharply, and trying to turn his face, quickly going white.  **_This little whore-_ **

He released one of Arkin’s arms, smacking him full-force in the face, a large, bright print left on the pale skin. Arkin went limp and tensed all at the same time, back and neck flopping against the ground, his free arm and legs curling up to protect himself, tightening further on the Collector’s cock. He shoved the man away, pulling out and grabbing his ankles, standing as he did. Arkin didn’t deserve to be fucked by him right now. He didn’t deserve to feel good for what he just did.

**_I HATE YOU!_ **

How  _ dare  _ he! He had been so GOOD up until then! He had moaned and held him close and(best of all) submitted to him! Was this so fucking elaborate stunt, some way to try and defy him and make him seethe? If that was his intention, well, fucking congratulations, he was angry! Arkin was kicking his feet and trying to pull them free, reaching weakly at the ground. He looked frantic, and the Collector felt a sadistic thrill of satisfaction.  _ That’s fucking right, you fucking  _ **_whore,_ ** _ you fucking wanted to make me angry, and now I’m gonna show you what happens to a  _ **_whore_ ** _ when they don’t listen to their pimp. _

Arkin was sweaty and sticky all over, and the chill of linoleum was just as startling and harrowing as the slap had been. His head ached, and he felt the beginnings of soreness in his ass. He was tired, but he had seen absolute  _ bloodlust  _ in the murderer’s eyes. Nononononono, please no,  _ NO- _

Was he gonna die? Had he outlived his usefulness? He had an awful thought; had he kidnapped Jim’s son as one last  _ fuck you,  _ and would use him instead? Was he going to die? 

The Collector tossed open a side door, opening right into a foul room; he could see a blood-splattered sheet in the middle of the room, and what looked like a bed behind it, the faint groans a clear sign that someone was there. Nearest to them was a large trunk, different from the ones before; this one was brown, and less torn and bloody. It was only a bit worn. Beside it, a metal chair was next to a long table, and Arkin scratched and beat at the ground, fighting harder.  _ Nonononono- _

He was tossed against the leg of a chair, and absolute agony stead from his side. He went limp, just trying to breathe through the pain. Oh, God, oh God, ohGodohGod _ ohGod… _ He was letting out a soft whine, but he didn’t get a break. Rough hands dragged him up, slamming him down onto the table, and he didn’t fight, didn’t tense, didn’t even brace for pain. God, it was like he was burning from the inside out, and every point of pain was a collection of broken glass under his skin. The rough hands pulled his arms up, one at a time, and he flinched as they were clicked into place one at a time, locking his wrists to the bottom of the table. He laid there, trying to work through the pain, skin chilling quickly. God, he could just fall asleep and forget all of this…

The Collector was letting out long, hissing breaths of air, and he was still trembling with rage. Arkin was still, letting out little sounds of weakness, but it didn’t make him feel any calmer, in fact, it only made him angrier.  _ Trying to act sorry? You’ll be sorry, you’ll see.  _ He turned back into the bathroom, getting dressed quickly and putting his mask back on, lacing it tightly. But he didn’t put on his belt; not yet. He would do that later. He stepped back into the holding room, firm sneer flashing through his mask.  _ You’re gonna regret fucking with me,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ Next time I shove my dick in you, you’re gonna beg me to be gentle, and you’re gonna love me when you fucking cum. You’ll  _ **_love ME._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I have a plan that might make you sad, but I’ve had this plan for months. You’ll see what I mean!;)


	36. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Now, this chapter got a little long, so I broke it up into two. Next chapter will conclude this turn of events, so look out for that! Also, next chapter will be a bit graphic, so try and go in with caution. As for this chapter, get some more angry Collector! Enjoy!

Trevor has heard shouts and whimpers not far from his little box. He tried to look around, see if there were any holes to look through, but it only caused pain to blossom from his back.  _ Shit! _ It smarted, leaving him mostly immobile in the small space. He heard the sounds fade out after a minute, and then, the heavy stomps of boots filled the air, leaving only stark, tense silence after. The click of one latch had him jumping.  _ Shit,  _ Trevor thought, curling and trying to shuffle on his side.  _ Don’t kill me, don’t kill me… _

The second latch clicked open, and light blinded him. He flinched away, and tight, cruel hands caught his arms, pulling him up and out, back into the faint light of the room. Then, as he gave a glance around, he flinched, disgust and horror fighting in his stomach. Arkin was spread across a table, completely naked and covered in bruises and healing wounds. His back was splotchy patches of pink and white raised skin, the area puckered, Scarred from formerly bad wounds. As his eyes stayed locked on Arkin and he was manhandled toward a chair with cuffs on it, he noticed a strange, semi-clear liquid dripping down his thighs, half-clinging to the curve of his ass, entirely on display. Shit, he knew what that was, would recognise it anywhere…

He was slammed into the chair, each arm cuffed down, then his legs. He didn’t want to keep looking at Arkin, but he couldn’t seem to look away. He had known that Arkin had been badly beaten by the bruises across his face and neck, but the amount of wounds was baffling. His skin was a discolored nightmare, purpling in some places, red in others, almost completely bloodless in unmarred areas. Trevor could tell Arkin was in absolute agony. Then, before he could do anything else, he was punched across the jaw, leaving the joint there absolutely exploding with pain, cutting down to the bone. His jaw went slack, and the hot, salty flavour of blood bloomed from his cheek, filling his mouth and slipping out of his lips.

The hot liquid dripped down onto his chest and stomach, cooling right across his skin, chilling him as the pain levelled out, his jaw slowly going numb. He dropped his head, eyelids fluttering rapidly, trying to focus. Pain and fear shivered through his bones, leaving him limp and dizzy. He coughed and gagged on the blood, forcing it out with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose and just trying to work through the teeth-aching, throat-closing sensations. Then, he heard the sound of leather hitting flesh, and he tried to straighten his neck. God, but it hurt…

…

The Collector had stood up from chaining the police brat to see said-boy giving Arkin a strange look. He didn’t like that look. He gave him a sharp right hook, satisfied when he saw blood. He then turned to Arkin, the stupid whore still just laying there. It was appealing to think of fucking him right there, in front of these two, staking his claim, but he had already fucked his so recently, he didn’t have the familiar tingle in his belly. Instead, he had a flame in his chest, one he wanted to cool, to sooth until it didn’t burn at his throat and leave his mouth dry and bitter. He reached down for his discarded belt, folding it in half, reaching a hand out to place on Arkin’s back. Arkin jumped at the touch, and the Collector gritted his teeth, leaning down to his ear. “ _ Listen here, my little  _ **_whore._ ** _ It’s too late now, you’re gonna get the beating of a lifetime. It’s too bad for these kids. Because of you, they’re gonna die.” _

…

Arkin started at the touch, blinking back to wakefulness. The words flowed into his ear, but it was the last statement that really caught his attention.  _ What?  _ The hand pulled away, and he was just about to protest when he felt the cool smack of what had to be a leather belt across his lower back. He flinched, legs straightening suddenly, knees locking, tensing as the belt came down again, crisscrossing over the last hit. The first hit had hurt, but it was more startling. The second one _ hurt.  _ His skin was icy fire, keeping him frozen in place at the same time he felt every nerve catch fire.

“STOP, STOP-“ Arkin screamed, but he choked when the belt hit again and again, over and over, the air catching in his lungs and belly.

It had to be about eight smacks in that he let out a long, deep shout, tugging and twisting his wrists with all his might, bruising and scraping and slicing the skin until it was sticky with sweat and blood. He reached out, straight down, searching with his eyes for something, anything to grab, to at least hold onto, but he couldn’t. It was just more and more hits, and he finally lost sensation in his legs, flopping straight down on the table and letting his arms and legs hang. Two or three more hits came, leaving his back burning with heat, but he refused to let tears fall. This man had already dragged so many awful sounds and screams from him today, he didn’t want to give him tears, as well.

The Collector was panting heavily behind him, but that wasn’t the sound that caught him off-guard: beneath that, he heard sobs and the faint whistling of air, as if someone was trying to breathe through a clogged nose. That was most certainly not the Collector. He heard the belt drop, then the sobbing turned into mindless, wordless blubbering, as if the man speaking wasn’t closing his mouth as he was talking. He winced as something scraped loudly across the floor, getting closer and closer, and he only managed to turn his head toward the sounds. 

He shouldn’t have turned his head.

On his other side, being pulled toward him in a chair, was a bloody, crying boy; Jim’s son. His cheek and lower jaw were swollen massively, blood pouring down his mouth and chest. He couldn’t tell what type of wound it exactly was, but it wasn’t obvious. What was worse, though, was the look he gave when he locked eyes with Arkin. Pity. Horror. Fear. Arkin had thought there was no worse humiliation than being kidnapped, fucked and forced to do whatever his tormentor wanted for days and days, but this? This was another level entirely. He would take any form of torture, 100 years being ripped apart by the murdrous Collector of people if he could take away that look, stop it from ever being made again.

Too bad bargains like that didn’t happen in real life.

…

The Collector was far from done with Arkin, but the belt had lost its effectiveness. Arkin has stopped his unending struggling, but he clearly wasn’t sorry enough, hadn’t been begging him for forgiveness, wasn’t even crying. So, he reached out and grabbed the back of the police brat’s chair, dragging him closer. The kid was crying and dripping blood all over, and rather than making him feel any better, it only made him hungrier for more blood, more pain and fear. He missed the look of shame and self-loathing that crossed Arkin’s face when he saw the boy, but he saw him shift away, eyes firmly closed and mouth a thin line, shaking, and it only made him more angry.

_ Fucking look at me! _

He kicked the kid’s chair over, almost knocking him into the wall. The little shit screeched, absolutely terrified, and Arkin’s eyes snapped back open, eyes wide in and searching. When he saw the boy on the ground coughing and spitting some bloody saliva from his mouth, he relaxed a bit, eyes looking back to the Collector. The man left the police brat on the ground, moving closer to Arkin, smiling cruelly. “ _ It’s too late. You can’t stop it this time.”  _ He whispered into his ear, and Arkin seemed a bit confused, brows wrinkling, but it all seemed to click for him when the masked man revealed a foot- long hunting knife, glimmering in the faint light.

“Wait, wait! Stop!” He shouted, pulling at his arms, his back and legs shaking weakly. But that only seemed to drive the Collector on.

He slammed a foot down on the edge of the chair, jolting the boy and slamming the chair tightly in place, the boy’s legs and hands twisting and catching in the cuffs. He was hysterically screaming and crying blood and snot covering his face as he whipped his head back and forth. The masked man leaned down, long knife moving slowly as he grabbed one tense calf, the police brat begging, only one word leaving his mouth. “ _ PLEASE!  _ **_PLEASE_ ** _!” _

The knife slid under the edge of the grimey jeans, pressing up against the denim and slicing it apart, leaving ankle to knee fully exposed. The little shit was looking around, trying to find a way out of this, no doubt, and locked onto Arkin, his cries changing slightly. “PLEASE DON’T LET ME DIE! ARKIN!”

…

Hearing his name from anyone beside the sadistic murderer was like a shot of speed right into Arkin’s heart. He gasped, pulse racing in his chest, arms and legs tending, and  _ fear  _ chewed at his stomach. He glanced at the masked man, and immediately looked away, feeling sick. The man looked livid, and had been staring straight at him; he had looked insane, and Arkin didn’t understand how exactly Jim’s son had made him so angry. All Arkin knew was that anything he did seemed to make the man more angry, and that always left innocent victims hurt or dead. 

A scream ripped across the room, and Arkin looked over, knowing he wouldn’t like what he saw. He was right.

The knife was embedded up to the hilt, nearly half of it sticking out of the bottom of the boy’s calf, blood sprayed out across the bottom of the chair and floor, quickly pooling into the large drops of blood dripping from the wound. “ _ You fucking little  _ **_shit!_ ** _ ”  _ The Collector’s words were nearly lost in the deep hiss of his rage, and he pulled the blade out completely, dragging it up as he did so.

The boy only screamed louder, head shoved as far back as it would go, back arched almost to the point of looking painful. “ _ Don’t fucking say his name, don’t you ever say his name!” _

Arkin was certain the masked man was becoming more and more unhinged. He was angry that someone who knew him said his name?  **_Why?_ ** “Wait, please!” He forced out, and the masked man stopped, staring at him. After a few seconds of strangled crying from Jim’s son and continued eye contact, Arkin could tell one thing for sure; it he said the wrong words, him and the kid would fucking die. So, he hesitated.

The Collector dropped the boy’s leg, whirling around and grabbing Arkin’s aching shoulder. “ _ SPEAK,”  _ The Collector growled, squeezing the red bite mark until Arkin let out a short cry.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did! I don’t want to make you angry!” He rushed to get his words out, not even sure what he was saying as the words came out. “ **Please!** Please, just tell me what you want, I’ll do it! I...I don’t know what you want…”

His voice trailed off, trembling, going a bit raspy at the end. He was desperate. He couldn’t keep up with this man anymore, he couldn’t just stay as resilient as he tried to be! He wanted to just curl in on himself and cry, just long enough to get through the most overwhelming sensations of helplessness, but he just bit down hard on his lips, keeping his eyes on the massive, angry man in front of him. He saw the man shudder a bit, then relax slightly, shoulders slumping. Arkin’s eyes widened, surprised by what he saw in the man’s face.

He could make out...regret.

…

The anger was fading, the red haze giving way to clarity. He could see the damage he had done to Arkin, and while it wasn’t as significant as the first time he had tortured him, he bruised across most of his back, his shoulders, neck, even his legs. Shit, he looked like a punching bag. And it was because the Collector couldn’t keep either of them in control. The words, while only making him more frustrated, took away most of the heat from his chest leaving him feeling hollow, and he couldn’t help the grimace that flickered across his mouth, pulling the corners of his eyes down slightly. Fucking Christ, why couldn’t he just control himself around Arkin?

He let his eyes wander down to Arkin’s badly scarred hand, thinking to himself as he let Arkin’s shoulder go. Of course Arkin would be confused, he didn’t actually  **know** what the Collector wanted! Still, though, he had screamed out in an attempt to  **hurt** him.  _ I hate you.  _ The words still cling to his thoughts, souring the otherwise remorseful view he was looking at Arkin with. Looking back up to the man’s face, he saw the smaller man watching him, studying him as he was arguing with himself. He reached out, gently gripping the curve of his chin and tilting it slightly higher, locking eyes with him.

Arkin’s eyes weren’t guarded, they weren’t deceitful or calculating, they were wide and patient, not hiding the weariness that tried to close them. He  _ did  _ seem to just not understand what the Collector wanted from him, just didn’t  _ know.  _ And that ignorance, that lack of understanding only made him more frustratingly desirable, more innocently provocative. He couldn’t let Arkin go, but…

Arkin’s eyes shook slightly, and he had to blink furiously, trying to focus back onto the man above him. This wasn’t  _ his  _ Arkin. Arkin was crude and powerful and a fighter, and while things would change when he finally accepted he belonged to the Collector… this wasn’t what he would become, not if the masked man wanted to keep him. It was clear that Arkin was slowly but surely  **_dying,_ ** and he couldn’t bring himself to watch him die. So, he leaned closer, close enough so that only he and Arkin would hear his words. “ _ I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the rules, I’ll make sure you know what you can and can’t do. But it’s too late for them.” _

The Collector knew Arkin would hate this. He knew Arkin would try and bargain, try and plead, but he wouldn’t give in. He needed to punish Arkin for his disobedience, needed him to understand that his actions had consequences. And more than that, he needed to get rid of the dead weight. 

He needed to kill the two brats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually really like Trevor and Davie, and I want to show them off a bit. So, next chapter, they’re gonna man up a bit, but don’t get your hopes too high on them living. Let me know what you think!


	37. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next one should be out soon!

Arkin’s eyes had dropped, and he had slumped, body seeming to lose the last of its strength. The Collector slid a hand down his arm and back, and he grit his teeth at the chill settled even over the most recent bruises. Arkin was too cold, he needed to get cleaned up and put into proper clothes. After that, he could continue with his plan, he could think of how to best help Arkin without just letting him go, and he would take much better care of him. He gently set Arkin’s head against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before turning to the sniveling police brat bleeding everywhere.

Well, he had a good plan for these two. That cut needed to be bandaged, though, if he wanted these two to go out right. He had a plan for them, and Arkin would learn what he wasn’t and wasn’t allowed to do while he watched them get torn apart. He would make sure Arkin knew this was  _ his  _ **_fault._ ** The Collector turned back to the bathroom door, still wide open, and went for the first-aid kit, planning his next steps in his head. Get Arkin cleaned up, put him in his cage, and drag these two miserable creatures to the Dogs. He smirked to himself as he leaned over the police brat, going for his injured leg, wrapping it in gauze tightly, the boy letting out a squealing little scream. Yes, the Dogs must be hungry, he hadn’t fed them in a while.

Even as he tried to stay more somber for Arkin’s sake, he felt delight bubbling in his stomach. God, he loved destroying these little worms! He couldn’t wait to watch them get torn apart, limbs separated while blood splattered everywhere. God, it would be fantastic to see them die, to watch these little brats scream and pay for trying to undermine him, wasting away their time and-

And then, the thought broke, snapping as he thought of something else. He hated stupid teenagers, especially ones that were wasteful. He tightened the gauze a bit more, another screech leaving the kid below him. He knew a guy that could set up a party, knew a place that he could set it up at, and even had plenty of traps already set up in the walls ceiling and floors. He just needed to check them, along with preparing for a party. Tucking the bandage into itself, the Collector glanced over at Arkin, feeling his heart race a bit in adrenaline. He needed to enjoy the next few days with Arkin before he let him go to the hospital. He would be gone for a while, and he didn’t want to get too aggressive in recapturing the man; that could lead to mistakes, and mistakes would end everything. 

He stood, going to Arkin’s side, quickly uncuffing his wrists. Arkin didn’t move. He flopped Arkin onto his back, a bit panicked by the lack of movement, but Arkin’s eyes were open. He was looking away, and he could see that his mouth was set harshly. He looked upset, but he wasn’t fighting it, he was fluttering his eyes and trying to stop the shivering of his jaw. He looked defeated.

He lifted him into his arms, holding him close as he carried him back into the bathroom, leaving the sobbing, bloody kid behind him, still chained to the chair. He would deal with them once he had Arkin fixed up.

…

Arkin didn’t want to be here anymore. He forced his eyes closed, trying to stop himself from letting any tears fall. He couldn’t do anything more, couldn’t offer anything more, couldn’t even fucking make sure he didn’t get himself into MORE trouble! He didn’t WANT to know what was going to happen to Jim’s son, did WANT to remember this was his fault, but what could he even do about it? He didn’t mean for any of this to happen, he wanted to be able to stop this awful series of events! Arkin’s chest was so tight, he felt as if he couldn’t breath. His heart was racing and his stomach hurt badly, and even though he couldn’t stand the murderer holding him, he leaned into him, breathing harshly, hissing through his teeth until he felt like he was choking. What was going on? What was wrong with him?

The Collector went to put him in the tub, but he held on, fingers digging into his shirt, suddenly terrified of letting go. If he let go, would he be able to breath? Would he be able to live? Would he be okay? What if this man wasn’t real, and  _ he  _ was the one killing these boys? What if-

The soft shushing of the masked man pulled him out of that dark spiral, drawing him back out. The firm pressure of the man’s fingers ran through his hair, his controlled breathing pressing his chest closer then drawing back from him, and he tried to time his breathing with that. At first, it only left his breath shuddering and shivering through his nose and mouth, but slowly, he was able to sync up to it, relaxing back and allowing the man to place him back into the lukewarm water. It was still a bit soapy, but otherwise it was fine, and the masked man pushed up his sleeves quickly scrubbing off the grime from Arkin, fingers surprisingly gentle around his aching lower back and cheek. 

Arkin had gone from suddenly panicked and horrified, nearly hyperventilating at the stress of it all, to completely exhausted again, unable to bring himself to move. His eyelids were heavy, his shoulders were heavy, but his head felt weightless, and it slid back to rest against the edge of the tub. Arkin couldn’t seem to stay awake. He needed to wake up… Wake up… Wake…

…

Arkin had fallen asleep again. The Collector touched his forehead, and he let out a small sound of relief. Arkin was still cold, but not as into a chill just yet. His temperature was still warm. He pulled out the plug from the drain, getting a fresh towel ready and drying Arkin’s hair and head. As he looked at the man, he could tell he needed a bit of a shave as well as a haircut, and the angry red bruise across his cheek ran from his jaw to the very bottom of his eye socket. He was still very pale, but that was just a side effect of blood loss and his poor health; he knew the man was suffering, but he would work as fast as he could to set up his next torture house.

The water drained away, and the Collector dried Arkin anywhere he could before pulling a shirt over his head and pants up his legs. Once he was fully dressed, he lifted Arkin, pressing them chest-to-chest, carrying him toward another room, this one not boobytrapped or hazardous. It was his own personal back rooms, ones he rarely brought him victims to. Settled behind one slab of counter covered in all sorts of equipment was a strange sort of wheelchair. He had taken apart some boards and belts and added it onto the existing wheelchair. He settled Arkin into the chair, strapping his ankles down, then his wrists, shoulders and stomach. He pulled him back from the counter and turned him toward the door, leaning over and pressing their lips together, licking at his lips. Arkin was warm and completely unyielding, but the Collector didn’t want that.

He stood, headed for the door again. He would get those two useless brats in a cage, he would let them be ripped to pieces, and then he would finish up his plans for Arkin. He could tell he wouldn’t be able to keep this place much longer if he had to leave Arkin for too long; the man was intelligent, and he knew Arkin had kept a record of how to get there. If it took too long, his little Collection would be compromised. He made his way down the hall, opening the door to the brats’ room, and smirked at the sobbing kid on the ground. He wouldn’t cry for much longer. But first, time for the stupid little bowling alley brat to move.

…

Trevor whimpered at the heavy steps that went past him. His leg burned and throbbed, pulsing from knee to just above his ankle. He took a shaky breath, jaw shuddering, eyes still tightly closed.  _ Please, please, don’t hurt me! _ The steps continued away from him, and he heard a cry of terror as the sound of cloth shifting caught his attention.  _ Davie,  _ he thought, heart squeezing as he looked painfully back and forth, wondering whether or not he should try and do anything. Even as he worried, he couldn’t bring himself to move.  _ What if he doesn’t just cut me, what if he chops my leg off, or cuts out my stomach, like that kid at the bowling alley? I don’t wanna die… _

So, filled with shame, he kept his eyes closed, as Davie shrieked, cutting off at the meaty sound of flesh colliding. It mellowed into sobbing, and he heard faint, slow steps add onto the heavier boot falls. “Pleash,” Davie slurred breathlessly, and as they got closer, he heard him let out a little whimper. “God, Trevor…”

The sound of the masked monster pushing Davie forward cut off whatever he was saying, and the two slowly shuffled out of the room, the younger man crying the whole way. At some point, he thought he heard him mumbling  _ sorry,  _ but he wasn’t sure and he had no idea why. Finally, the sounds faded away, and Trevor peeked an eye open, glancing around carefully. He couldn’t let that monster catch him again, he had to get out! He yanked both his ankles and wrists around, even trying to squeeze his hands through the small openings of the cuffs, but it only left his skin sore and aching.  _ Shit, SHIT,  _ **_SHIT!_ ** He tossed his head back and forth, looking for any way to get free, maybe a key or a knife or  _ anything,  _ but all he could see was the curtains, the table, and the belt, laying all too innocently across from him. Shit, what could he even do with this? He turned, searching the ground again, and he just heard it; the deep crunch of the boots, heavy and ominous in the otherwise quiet hotel. 

**_SHIT._ **

Trevor looked over, eyes searching for any bit of movement. The footsteps got louder, and he couldn’t help but notice that they were deliberately slow and heavy, as if he was delighting in Trevor’s fear.  _ Fucking monster,  _ he thought, but it did work; he was nearly pissing himself. The steps were so close, he knew the man would appear any moment. And then, like a devil appearing to drag him to Hell, the masked man entered again, and, dear God, he was smiling. Trevor couldn’t make himself move, even as the man got closer and closer, and he just stared at him. The masked monster reached down and unlocked the cuffs, and Trevor still didn’t move, frozen by the smile. Only when he began to pull him up did Trevor snap to action, screaming as he tossed his arms and legs out, aiming to hit the man with his full-body. Instead, he lost his breath as a sharp jab to his left lower back, twinging across his already bruised spine and through his kidney. He gasped and coughed, feet sliding as the man pulled him out of the room.

His vision was swimming in and out of focus, and he reached out trying to grab for a wall. “Help,” he mumbled out, but it didn’t do him any good. He tried to shuffled his legs, but only hissed as his leg smacked against a wall. They turned a direction that left his head reeling, fluttering through the heavy stench of death and shit, and he gagged as one of the monster’s arms wrapped around his windpipe. They abruptly stopped as he slowly choked, trying to scratch at his kidnapper’s arm, the heavy clank of metal registering. Next thing he knew, he was flying away, air filling his lungs before he slammed against cold concrete.

Trevor cried out, falling on his side, the loud screeching of the door behind him leaving his heart screaming in his chest. That murderer said he was gonna kill him, so why didn’t he? Then, he looked up, and he caught sight of Davie, still alive. His face still relatively swollen and puffy, but it was his hands he was crawling to his chest, trying to keep out of harm’s way. “Tr-Trevor,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wh-what?” Trevor has no idea what he was talking about. Why was he apologising? “What do you mean?”

Davie looked away, looking guilty. “He wanted to know who you were.”

The words were said softly, low enough that he didn’t immediately understand what he meant. Then, he felt the confusion turn into disgust, betrayal. “What?”

His voice was sharp, even a bit outraged, and Davie stumbled to continue his explanation. “He asked me who you were, and I didn’t tell him at first, then he, he… he  _ ruined  _ my hands! He made it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to cut me into pieces! He didn’t care, he just wanted  **your** name!”

Davie sounded defensive. He sounded like he just wanted to say,  _ it wasn’t my fault!  _ But beneath it, he sounded scared. He sounded absolutely  _ terrified,  _ and he had only been here a few days. What had that masked MONSTER done to him? “It wouldn’t have even happened if it weren’t for  _ Arkin,” _ he said with gritted teeth, and his face went from scared to absolutely  **LIVID.**

Trevor didn’t understand; “What did… Arkin do?” He said the words carefully, Arkin’s name softer than the rest.

Davie snorted, posture straightening slightly. “That fucker is the reason we’re even here! He picks fights with that masked guy, gets others hurt, and if it weren’t for him, the bowling alley wouldn’t have been attacked!”

Trevor was reeling, trying to understand exactly what Davie was talking about. The bowling alley was attacked because of Arkin, but why? To spite him? It was his ex-wife’s alley, so that would make sense. Still, he hadn’t noticed that until Arkin was spread…  _ naked…  _ across a table.  _ Naked- _

He shivered, disgusted. He didn’t want to remember that. Okay, it would make sense for him to hurt others if they mattered to Arkin in any way, but how did that monster  _ know  _ he would find someone that would hurt Arkin? Unless that wasn’t really his point. “Davie,  _ why  _ would that masked monster hurt you if ARKIN was the one making problems? Wouldn't he just hurt ARKIN?”

The words made so much sense, were so direct, and David looked confused. “Why? Well… because… I… I’m not sure! It doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what happened!”

Trevor raised a hand, trying to placate the other young man. “Shh, shhhhh! Calm down, I’m not saying it didn’t! But it doesn’t sound like Arkin knows what’s going on, either. Earlier, that monster beat the absolute shit out of him, but he was even more angry when I said his name…”

Trevor’s mind was working but it kept finding ONE answer; the masked guy had some sort of obsession with Arkin, and if Arkin didn’t do what he told him to, he beat him or guilt-tripped him. And it looks like they were the most recent consequences. “Hey, Davie? I think that psychopath is fucking Arkin.”

Davie gave him an odd look. “Fucking really?  _ Why? _ ”

“When he beat the shit out of Arkin, Arkin was naked, and he was using a belt. He was absolutely pummelling him, but he was so… focused. After, he had this conversation with Arkin, and Arkin was trying to  **stop** him from hurting me. I think he was trying to take the punishment himself, but…”

“But it doesn’t fucking matter, cuz we’re in a fucking cage, and he’s gonna kill us,” Davie hissed, and Trevor couldn’t really disagree. They were going to die, and in some way it was Arkin’s fault.

The cage creaked, and both men looked over, flinching away at what they saw; twisted, malformed versions of men and women, bloody and infectious, huddled together in one larger, separate cage, and they were tracking them like wolves staring down rabbits. When they noticed them, the people in the other cage began to snarl and claw at the bars, breathing heavily. “What the  **fuck!** ” Trevor spat, stumbling back, groaning at the pain in his leg.

“Davie, I don’t  _ care  _ what the fuck is going on with Arkin and that monster; I don’t wanna die here, and I don’t know what the FUCK those are, but those aren’t people. We need to get out,” Trevor’s voice was wobbly, but he was sure of his words.

Davie looked uncertain, but glancing back at the slobbering creatures, he only nodded, craning his head around. “Do you see any openings? Anywhere we can try and break through?”

Trevor looked around, but he couldn’t see anything. “Davie, do you see a door or an opening-“

With those words, Davie looked up, and his eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open into a faint smile. “There!”

Trevor followed his gaze, and let out a little sound of relief. A hole. There was a hole in the ceiling of the cage, too high if they had been in here alone. Together, they could reach it. “Here, give me a boost!”

Davie looked down at his hands, and shook his head. “I can’t, my hands…”

Trevor glanced around, finally looking down at the other boy’s knee. “Here, get on one knee, I’ll step on that, and you can steady me. Then, I’ll pull you up.”

“Okay, okay,” Davie agreed, but his eyes were wide, and it was clear he was terrified. He braced himself on his one knee, glancing away as Trevor stepped up onto his leg.

Trevor stepped up with his good leg, then held onto Davie’s shoulders, pushing himself higher, reaching up for the edges of the hole. The position was flimsy, and they shook as they strained their muscles and held in the pain. Just as Trevor's fingers brushed the edge, he lost his footing, and would have fallen if the other boy hadn’t wrapped his arms around his thighs, sending him flailing the other way, catching the edge of the opening and holding firm. He raised his other hand and pulled himself higher, arms shaking as he caught the top of the cage and hooked an elbow over. “Almost… there…!”

He yanked himself higher, and his leg screamed. Once he was up, he fell on his side, gripping his leg, letting out a long whimper. After a few seconds, he pushed himself back up, reaching down into the hole. “O-okay. Give me your hand.”

Davie looked terrible. He was sweating profusely, and looked on the brink of tears, but he reached up with both hands, catching Trevor’s outstretched ones. However, Davie dropped, screaming and hiding his hands. Shit, shit, shit! As quickly as he could, he sat up and lowered his good leg. “Fucking hurry!”

Davie was still sobbing, cursing more than Trevor had ever heard from him, but he leapt and hugged his leg, Trevor grabbing one of his arms and sliding up from the hole. The humanoid creatures shrieked and howled, but it was the heavy footsteps they were most worried about. Looking up, they saw the masked man, pushing Arkin in a wheelchair, straps holding him in place. “Shit!” Trevor hissed. “Let’s fucking go!”

…

The Collector has gone back for Arkin, pushing him toward the cage as he heard it. There was a cry of pain, and his Dogs were screaming, and that wasn’t normal. He made it around the corner, and he saw the two kids, the two  _ little fucking  _ **_shits,_ ** on the roof of his cage, running toward one of his many grid beams. He sneered, chest rumbling and tightening as he watched them, breathing out in pure rage.

  
They wouldn’t fucking **_ruin_** his punishment for Arkin, they would **DIE.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, life was getting in the way. I initially wanted to make this chapter longer, but you’ll get more chapters instead. I’ll be getting the next chapter out as quick as I can, so look for that. Until next time!


	38. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the torture house! Be prepared, this is a bit quick-paced as a chapter, but let’s be honest; there is no way that Davie and Trevor have a chance against the Collector. I must hope you all enjoy!  
> Mild gore warning to everyone; it gets a little bloody in this chapter, so look out for that.

Both boys were breathing heavily, stumbling as quickly as they could across the top of the cage. Both were doing their best to not twist an ankle over the uneven and wobbly bars, and finally found their footing on the flat walk-beam that ran beside it. Davie chanced a look back, and his stomach dropped. Arkin was there, unmoving and slumped in a wheelchair, but the masked man had vanished, not even the sound of his boots audible. What was even more fucking terrifying was that the human-zombie creatures had gone silent, only a few small whimpers escaping their cage, and they weren’t fighting to escape anymore.

They were pressed against the back corner of the cage, huddled together, hands covering their faces. What the  **fuck** did that man do to them? 

He and Trevor made it to the walkway, stumbling and wincing as they moved onto smaller, sharper grating. They hobbled across it, finally making it to regular concrete, but Davie and Trevor were even more cautious. This fucker liked to set up painful, torturous traps, and if even one succeeded in catching them…

Well, it wouldn’t exactly be the happy ending they wanted.

Trevor was quicker to point out traps, but it probably helped that most of his face wasn’t trying to force his damn eyes closed! His nose and sinuses aches horribly, and were still rather swollen, even to the point that he had to force his eyes open. Things were a bit blurry at times, but he could handle that, just as long as Trevor didn’t let him run into any wires or blades. One time, he was able to pull his begrudging friend back as an axe swung down toward him. The further they ran, the more frantic and confused they became. Where was the exit? Where was the masked murderer that had been chasing them? Were they even on the right level? Finally,  **finally** , they saw a window, mostly covered with the smallest opening, one that they could just see through. 

The outside of the torture house was rundown and overgrown with weeds. They could make out one man in the distance, and he had ragged, dirty clothes. Probably a homeless man. “Weh need to find a wayh to bheak t-hrough,” Davie slurred out, his breathing laboured, his speech grappling with his very painful,  _ very  _ **broken** nose.

Trevor was about to pull at the edge of the wood, but he stopped, eyes catching on the faint gleam of metal. He leaned closer, and hissed, stepping back slightly. Razor blades. It was another trap! “Shit!” He spat, turning to look for anything he could bash against the window, but everything was secure. The axe had even pulled back into the ceiling, and neither wanted to taunt any of the blades around them. They needed to find another way out of here. “We need to get on the ground floor,” Trevor said, huffing, looking around in terror.

His head whipped around as a door slammed open, and he pulled Trevor into a crouch, flinching and holding his thigh as his calf screamed. The two saw the man, not 30 feet away, and they could see the knife in his hand. He was still across from them on the other side of the walkway, and they were fortunate that one of the large traps blocked the lower half of the hall they were hidden in, and he didn’t seem to see them clearly. He paced closer to them, and Trevor couldn’t think of any way to get out of this. They waited, silent and twitchy and terrified, and let out a small breath when he turned the other direction, vanishing down a separate hall. “Okay,” Trevor whispered, we need to get back to the first floor and find a door out. This, this guy has to have a car somewhere.”

He was looking back out toward the hall, making sure the man was gone, so the slam of a nearby door wasn’t only unexpected, it was something he  _ couldn’t  _ expect. Less than ten feet away, the masked man was staring them down with those terrifying eyes, moving toward them at a dizzying speed. “RUN!”

He and Davie were back on their feet, running full-tilt, but the man was quicker, and Trevor was yanked back by the collar of his shirt, sending him flying over the edge of the top floor, falling on his back. Hard. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was the man catching Davie by the arm.

Then, it was all gone. He didn’t heard the screams.

…

Davie was shouting for help, blood clogging his throat as his shout jostled his damaged sinuses. He was spitting and coughing in between his cries, and he was pulled closer to the cage again. No, no, no! He didn’t wanna die! He didn't want to be eaten by some barely human monsters, he wanted to  _ live!  _ And with a sudden move, he punched out, hitting the murderer directly in the throat. He hadn’t thought the move through.

The masked man shoved him away and coughed harshly, holding his neck with his head tilted down, clearly in pain. He felt a flash of satisfaction as his back smashed into a wall, and as he went to sprint away, he made one big mistake.

He didn’t check his feet.

He tripped on a knee-high wire, catching stumbling on his tired, weak legs, and started to fall back, back down toward the cage, back down toward the hard, dirty ground, back down toward those filthy slobbering monsters. No, God, please! He didn’t deserve this! His eyes swiveled back up, mouth open soundlessly, and it only got worse. As he started to fall, he saw one of the biggest blades he had ever seen, it almost made him think of a helicopter blade, and it was falling down toward him.  **SHIT.**

It was too late. There was nothing more he could do. He sucked in that last breath, eyes widening even more as the long piece of metal fell, and-

...

Arkin awoke to a strange sound, something like a watermelon being chopped. The air was rancid, and it almost tasted like smoke and poison on his tongue. His eyes fluttered at the heavy sound of something hitting the ground and the faint hiss of splattering liquid near him. He opened his eyes, and he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

Arkin’s eyes opened wide, horrified at what had fallen in front of him. An arm had fallen to the floor in front of him, blood pooling all over the stained concrete, and the upper part of his torso and head were nearby. It was David. He didn’t understand; was he asleep still? Was this a nightmare? His mouth dropped open and he couldn’t stop staring at the awful opening of his chest cavity. Through the blood he could seem the prominent shape of his lungs and ribs, and he could see his spine, half-curved out of his back, snapped at an angle. His eyes crawled back up, and, dear fucking God, a fleshy sack and his intestines had spilled down, a few plump organs fell out of the lower half of his torso; it was hanging off the top of a cage just past his body. He thought it had been awful when he saw Michael Chase gutted but this was so much worse. He coughed and gagged and hacked, stomach squeezing and twisting like a knife. Oh, shit. The kid...

He couldn’t bring himself to look back, to truly see what happened to David, to do any of that. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, just trying to breathe as deeply as he could. His mouth was bitter, and he was swallowing as often as he could, and mid-swallow, he was yanked back, jolting at the movement. His eyes flew open, and he tried to turn around, seeing a delicate little woman wearing a cheap, plastic mask. Through the mask, he could see pretty blue eyes staring down at him, and a hoodie hid the rest of her features. She ignored him, instead pulling him back into a room and turning to the door to leave. “Wait, who are you?”

The girl paused, turning back to him for a moment, sizing him up. His stomach turned when she brought a finger to her mask’s lips, letting out a long, low  _ “shhhhhhhhhh.” _

She was gone from the room before he could even begin to understand what was happening, and the harsh click of the lock only made him feel sicker.

…

The Collector couldn’t believe the little brat had punched him! Had  _ fucking  _ **_punched_ ** _ him in the  _ **_THROAT!_ ** He looked down, and was only slightly satisfied when he saw the pieces left of him.  _ Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean I’m done with you,  _ he thought, jumping across to the cage and kicking the body down. Fortunately, Abby was prepared. She was pulling away the wheelchair, locking the door behind her to keep Arkin out of the little escape attempt. One was gone, now to find the other. The police brat should still be across the room. He quickly crawled down the side of the cage, and while he was on one side, Abby made her way around the other side. He could see the motionless body on the ground, and he stepped even closer, Abby cautiously holding a knife. The boy didn’t stir. He grabbed one of his legs and pulled him toward the room holding Arkin, ignoring him as he groaned low.

The boy was shifting in his grip, and he stopped, kicking him hard in the side, enjoying the way he curled and wheezed around his boot. As he pulled him past the other brat’s body, he smirked at the scream of horror. This would be a wonderful outlet.

…

Every part of Trevor hurt. His back, his head, his chest, EVERYTHING. He could tell he was moving, and he moved his ankle, trying to release it. He stopped moving, and before he could even blink away his confusion, he lost his breath to a firm kick to his waist, and he was back in the moment, wheezing and trying to breathe through it. He was looking around as the murderer dragged him further around the cage, and he could smell wet copper in the air. He glanced down, not thinking much of it before he saw a familiar pair of legs.

Just the legs.

Blood was all over the floor, and he was pulled through the grime, closer and closer to Davie. When he saw intestines and spine sticking out of raw, bloody flesh, he let out a scream, kicking out with his free foot. Davie was dead. Davie was all over the ground, and he was being  _ pulled through pieces of his body.  _ He was curling around his face, eyes closed as he sobbed and refused to look at his sort-of friend.

Oh, God.

The monster above him kept walking, stopping at a door, and he could hear a key twisting in the lock. The door creaked open, and he was dragged inside the room, and hands pulled him up, forcing him onto his stomach and chest. When he finally opened his eyes, chest tight and heart hammering, he saw Arkin, blood sprayed across his face, pale and wide-eyes, staring sadly down at him. “Please don’t do this,” the man begged, shaking his head, and, to his shock, the masked man stepped away. If it wasn’t him with a foot shoved into his back, who-

**_Oh._ **

Fucking Abby. The girl was even worse than he had first thought. The masked man leaned right in toward Arkin’s ear, and Trevor couldn’t help the disgust that curled in his stomach as the man bit his ear. “ _ We already talked about this,  _ **_Arkin,”_ ** the masked man spoke in a husky tone, and fucking-shit, it was way too similar to when he used to tease his girlfriend.

The masked monster of a man was  _ flirting.  _ With  **ARKIN.** “ _ You know what you did,  _ **_Arkin,_ ** _ and they will be paying for it. I can’t teach you not to disobey me with a casual fuck.” _

Yep. Okay, yep, they were fucking, and Arkin looked like he was dying on the inside. He could see tears in the man’s eyes, and his shoulders were shaking. “Please, he didn’t do anything to you,  **I** did!”

The masked man tilted Arkin’s head back, pressing creepy little kisses along his neck, hands coming up on either side of his chest and massaging the firm pectoral muscles through his shirt. He pulled away for a moment, smirking and staring Trevor down. “ _ Oh, don’t worry. This IS personal with him. He witnessed something I can never forgive.” _

Trevor didn’t fully understand what he meant, but he didn’t have time to panic when Arkin let out a shout. “ **NO!”**

Trevor was not expecting the absolute agony of a knife to the back.

…

Arkin couldn’t stand it. Little touches fluttered across his chest and the masked man was sucking at his neck, and he was fighting with all his might as Jim’s son was stabbed again and again by the masked woman behind his back. Trevor was staring into his eyes, and it clawed at his heart how scared he looked. He was crying and coughing up blood, and he was clawing at the ground until his nails pulled away, blood tracking across the ground. “He-he-l-p-“ he pushed out the word, and after the fifth stab, he drooped, eyes lowering down to Arkin’s feet, flopping and going limp beneath the woman.

She didn’t stop. She kept going. She just kept stabbing into his bloody, ruined back, and she even started giggling. And Arkin couldn’t hold it in. “STOP, STOP! HE’S ALREADY DEAD! PLEASE!”

She didn’t stop. She kept going. And Arkin couldn’t take it anymore. He let out a long scream, tears dripping down his face, and he fought as the masked man held him tighter, closer, the hands that had taken so many lives pressed to his chest. Too close, too close! “STAY AWAY! STOP IT, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He dissolved into sobs and wilted, and finally, the woman pulled back, leaving Jim’s son a bloody, torn mess of cuts and slashes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Arkin sobbed, and his forehead pressed against the masked man’s neck. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t live this way anymore. He thought he had put some distance between himself and the boys, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t deal with this anymore. “I’ll be good, I promise. Please don’t hurt anyone else…” his words were desperate, and he couldn’t find the will to feel shame for that.

If this man wanted to see him cry, he could see him cry. If he wanted to humiliate him, he could humiliate him. If he didn’t like him being disgusted and expressing his hate when he was being fucked, fine. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t even make a sound. This masked man could do whatever he wanted until he got tired of him. And once he got tired of him, he would be free.

...

The Collector couldn’t get enough of Arkin’s sobbing and apologies. He was so lost, he wasn’t even fighting in the masked man’s hold, and was even leaning against him. He gestured for Abby to take the brat away, shushing and rubbing Arkin’s stomach. “ _ I forgive you, Arkin. I won’t bring anyone else in if you obey me. Do you understand?” _

Arkin nodded against his neck, but that wasn’t enough for him. “ _ You need to speak up, Arkin. Otherwise I won’t know you understand.” _

“Yes, yes, I understand. Please, please, I won’t…” He said hurriedly, but his words dropped off. Arkin was way too weak.

He continued to hush Arkin, letting him rest against his neck as he sniffled and sobbed, and he was glad with the outcome. The boys really thought they could get away in HIS home? Not possible. They were 100 years too young to go against him. More than the punch to the throat, more than the little taunts and snark from the bowling alley brat, he  _ hated  _ Trevor to his core. He and his  _ father  _ tried to take what was his, and he had seen Arkin  _ naked.  _ True, he had dragged Arkin there, but it was for punishment, and the boy had been clearly  _ checking out  _ Arkin’s ass during that time. He knew better than to look at what wasn’t his, and this was his fault. He would see the same end as the other brat.

_ Don’t worry, Arkin, I’ll take care of you. Now that they’re gone, I can get you to a hospital, and we can get you taken care of. Then, you won’t ever have to worry again; now that you know the consequences, this won’t happen anymore. I’m sure of it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that’s it for our two bowling boys. Next, we move on to the final part of this story, then the sequel. I’ll see you next time.:)


	39. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys, just a bit of filler before next chapter. No sexy time in this one like I planned, but there is some in next chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

The Collector left Arkin with Abby as he took care of the brat’s remains; he wanted to see his Dogs in action. The police brat was easy to deal with; Abby had dragged him out into the hall, and he easily maneuvered it back to the cage, unlocking the door and letting it creak open for his Dogs’ meals. The other little shit was more difficult; his body was coming apart, and his innards had fallen in every direction, his liver in one corner while his kidneys had burst upon hitting the ground. It was an awful disgusting mess, and he was stuck dealing with it. He decided he would toss the larger body parts in first, then he would  _ kick  _ the remaining pieces in after. All in all, it was delightful revenge for the punch to the throat.

His Dogs were so obedient, staying quiet and not moving the entire time he prepared their meal. He locked the door to the cage again, heading over to the device that would raise the wall that divided the cage in two. The Dogs stayed still for a few moments, uncertain if they were allowed to move, but hunger finally got the better of them, and they lunged for the fresh bodies, dirty nails and starving mouths ripping and tearing and snapping down on bone and flesh. He listened silently, smiling as cloth shredded away, blood drips flicking across the filthy floor. For some reason, his Dogs never went for the face, instead going for the throat or arms, and seeing them pull arteries and vein-filled meat free was fascinating in a vaguely nauseating way. They thought that any part of them would continue on in this world, terrified and always at his mercy? 

Well, it was satisfying, but it would be even  _ better to burn them to the  _ **_ground._ ** They had no place in his collection, and his Dogs would make sure they were gone.

With their lives.

…

The masked man stayed the night with Arkin. He didn’t fuck him or torture him. He removed his mask and shoes, laid down and pulled him back-to-chest. He just held him. Arkin couldn’t find the energy to fight him. He seemed to be going through these strange cycles of perfect calm, where he could hardly recall any of what happened, and sharp, sudden sadness, and everything would come back to him. When that happened, he would just cry and curl into a ball, and the Collector always would…comfort him through the episodes. Part of him was disgusted by the gentle words and fingers brushing through his hair, like he was some  _ pet  _ that needed comforting, but another part couldn’t help but lean in, huddling up in his arms and taking comfort from his warmth.

He knew that the warmth was just heat, but it was comforting; he could pretend it was Lisa cuddling up to him, could pretend that Cindy was just down the hall. But he could never fully convince himself. The chest against his back was firm and flat, not soft and plump, and the air smelled faintly of death and blood. The arms around him were thick and unyielding, not slim and pliant. It felt wrong and right all at the same time, and he managed to uneasily fall asleep. His dreams were just and vicious and grotesque as his waking hours.

_ It was hard to breathe, but Arkin wasn’t moving. He was dangling from the ceiling, and he could see the pieces of David beneath him. He could feel his heart pound as the head moved, looking right at him with dead, flat eyes, and when he opened his mouth, cockroaches crawled out, moving like little black dots across his cheeks and disappearing into his hair. His detached arms began to move, and the fingers pulled them up and across the ground, toward the wall. Worse, when they reached the wall, the arms kept going, moving higher and higher, closer and closer. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even speak. _

_ Finally, the arms came to the ceiling’s edge, and he swiveled his head to keep them in view. At the edge of his eyes, something floppy and red hung down, and a glance had his stomach rolling. Intestines. Intestines were hanging down. His eyes moved farther up, right above his head, and he saw the intestines vanish into the opening of his chest cavity. Right in front of his face. Two other lines of the intestine made their way down toward him, and he finally looked at himself. He was held in place by the boy’s innards, and he still couldn’t scream. God, why couldn’t he scream? David was speaking now, and the hands were getting too close for comfort. “ _ **_Don’t worry, I’ll make you just like me,_ ** _ ” the boy said, but it wasn’t his voice, it was gritty and low and hollow. _

_ The hands just kept getting closer, and he couldn’t  _ **_move,_ ** _ and then they were on him, shaking, shaking, and the  _ **_voice-_ **

He awoke with a start, but nothing was moving around him. The arms holding him were lax, but when he shifted, they tightened, and the man behind him moved closer, pressing his mouth close to Akron’s ear? “ _ Bad dream?” _

The words were so normal, so much like what Lisa would say to him and vice versa, just a tired question of if he had a bad dream. Something so normal when his life was currently anything  _ but  _ normal, and this evil bastard could be so concerned for him? It was so, so  _ wrong,  _ but he WANTED that comfort, needed it, needed someone to be normal for him. He let out a long, deep sob, still shaken by the dream, still blinking away the overwhelming helplessness and terror. “Don’t touch me…don’t…don’t…don’t…” he couldn’t say more than that, could move away because the arms felt safe.

Instead of anger, the murderer moved closer, rubbing his arm and softly hushing him, murmuring sweet little nothings in his ear. It took quite a while to do more that hiccup and snuffle against the thin pillow. Deep into the night he finally fell back asleep, faint dreams of his daughter and Hannah hiding and spiders hiding in their bears left him uneasy through the night, but he didn’t wake again.

Until the next morning.

…

The Collector woke easily in the early hours of the morning, and he relished the warmth of Arkin pressed against him. He had thought about calling out and just staying like this, back-to-chest, soaking in the pleasant lethargy of human contact. Unfortunately, he could not. He needed to make everything look natural as he prepared for his next gathering. So, he reluctantly sat up, running a hand up and down his back, frowning at the other man’s suddenly distressed face. His eyebrows were pulled down and his forehead was creased, and his mouth was thin and wide, slanted like he was in pain. Whatever nightmares he was having, they worsened without someone to hold him. Taking this in, he moved quickly, heading for Abby’s room.

Abby was laying across her bed, and she snapped her eyes open at the creak of her door. She sat up, in spite of her still blurry eyes, and silently followed the Collector when he motioned for her. They moved as a unit, like they knew every move the other would make, and it made him even more confident in his next action. He brought Abby to Arkin’s cage, helping her crawl up the side before making his own way up, following her back down. Gently, he nudged her to the bed, having her lay down, and he positioned them together, satisfied when he saw Arkin’s brow smooth. He couldn’t stop the nightmares, but he could soothe them temporarily. Abby looked up at him, and he could see the hesitancy, the question:  _ Is this really okay?  _ He sat beside her, brushing some of her hair from her face, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, giving her a rare smile.

“ _ I’ll be setting up a gathering tonight, so I’ll be home late. I need you to keep a close eye on Arkin. He’ll need food and water, and he’ll need comfort,”  _ he directed, and she nodded.

“ _ Get some rest; the next few days will be difficult.” _

_ … _

Arkin was curled against a warm body. It was smaller than him and soft, and something about it made him think of a sweet smile and dark eyes. “Cindy…” he mumbled out, hands going up to find her head, and he ran his fingers through her hair, smiling. God, he missed his baby. She was getting older, so she stopped wanting to cuddle with her dad as much…

He thoughtlessly pulled her closer, some deep, soft joy settling in the center of his chest. But something felt off; Cindy didn’t live with him. “Baby, what’re you-“ his words cut off suddenly as he blinked away the sleep in his eyes, and he first noticed pale blonde hair. That wasn’t Cindy’s. The girl, no, the  _ woman,  _ looked up at him, and he was at first reminded of Hannah. She had smooth cheeks and kind eyes, and she looked tired, eyes half-closed. “We need to sleep more,” she mumbled out, but he wasn’t thinking about resting anymore.

“Who- who are you?” He asked carefully, sitting up and moving away.

He just caught her giving him a considering look, eyes tracking his movement before she yawned and also sat up. She stretched and stayed relaxed, something alarming to him. No one should be comfortable here, this was a murder house, so why was  _ she  _ so comfy? She pushed some of her hair out of her face, and she looked right at him, tilting her head. She looked a bit confused, and Arkin didn’t have a fucking clue why. “What do you mean, who am I? I’m Abby! Don’t you remember?”

It immediately clicked for him. Abby, the girl from a few days earlier. He hadn’t actually seen her, but the voice did sound familiar. “Why…why are you  _ here?” _ He asked the question carefully, hoping she understood what he meant.

Apparently, she didn’t.

Her eyes went a bit glassy, trailing away as she pursed her lips. “The same reason you are.”

At first, he thought she meant he had run away from the man, too, but then she looked back, and her eyes were so desperate. “ _ He  _ found my family, targeted us, and I was the one he chose.”

Her words were bland, and she reached out a hand, taking his. “He told me to stay here with you, to make sure you’re okay. Come on, we should get more sleep.”

“No, I can’t, I need to-“ Arkin stopped, breath catching. 

The boys were dead now. As painful as the thought was, it meant he was in charge of getting out and making sure that  **motherfucker** got what he deserved. Pure hate had settled in his stomach, mixing with grief to make him delirious. “I need to get out of here,” he growled, pushing Abby away and trying to stand.

His legs wouldn’t hold his weight at first, and he refused Abby’s attempts to coax him to lay down again. The next time, he successfully found the strength to stand, but it only left his lower back and legs tight and aching. He ended up losing his footing and falling back, Abby throwing herself around his shoulders, holding him down. “You need to rest, if you don’t do what he says, he’ll hurt us! We’ll both be in trouble!”

“We’re only in trouble if he finds out,” Arkin retorted, trying to pry her arms off of him, but he only ended up trapped on the bed, her laying across his chest, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again.

After a half-hour of struggling, he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He was so tired, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep! He was tired of always feeling exhausted, he was tired of not even being able to walk! He just wanted to go home!

He felt a single tear slide down his cheek before his mind went blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we have a weak Arkin who has finally actually seen Abby. I hope you’re excited because next time, we will be getting into the second movie! See you then!


	40. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward! Hope you enjoy this next chapter with a little bit of smut here. Also, let’s just say that some of the language can get a bit...extra. So enjoy!

The Collector was finished setting up his little party. The blades were all functioning properly, he had tested the ceiling crop-chopper, and had set up the latch he would place Arkin’s trunk on. His man had gotten back to him, and it seemed like he would be able to get a small, exclusive group together, mostly teens and college students who wanted a place to get wasted and wouldn’t tell any parents or responsible friends. He had just packed up his equipment to leave when he saw a man walking toward the alley, looking back and forth carefully. That was never a good sign.

He closed his door, knife at the ready as he made his way over quietly to the alleyway entrance. Deeper inside, he could hear faint moans and gasps, something he wasn’t expecting. Around the corner, the man was leaning over a woman, hands disappearing into her tiny shorts, and she held onto his shoulders, head turned skyward. It was clear the two had met for a hookup, and he was a little irritated he hadn’t seen the girl arrive. Still, they didn’t look like they noticed him, and the gasps and little whines only made him think of Arkin. That’s right, he only had a few more days before he had to let Arkin go, he should enjoy his time. He creeped away, licking his lips as he thought about what he would do.

He was hungry.

…

Arkin had been awake for hours. He had woken up quickly after his last little nap, and Abby had, as well. She was quiet, but she watched him carefully, never straying more than a few feet from him. She was strangely attached to him, and at one point pulled him into a strong hug, petting his hair. She had also produced a handful of granola bars, and it was a good substitute for a real meal. “You’re lucky,” she had said. “He doesn’t really like to feed those he keeps.”

At this point, he was just hoping it wouldn’t be the only food they got today, and Abby had taken to brushing his hair with her fingers. The action was soothing, but a bit disturbing. It was methodical, controlled. It was fucking weird. The low light had made it hard to know what time it was, and he kept losing focus and dozing off, but those damn hands never stopped. That was, until the smallest of creaks just faintly could be heard. Her hands stopped, still immersed in his short hair, and she tightened them to fists when he tried to move. “What are you-“

“Shhhhh.” The sound was unnervingly similar to the masked man, close to his ear and with breath leaving goosebumps across his skin. The biggest difference was her voice wasn’t as deep, as gravelly, and that her breath was cold against his ear instead of hot. She was icy.

The creak was followed by another small, soft, barely-there sound of the old floor settling under something or someone’s weight. Then, Arkin hissed as the lights were turned, blinding him for a moment. He blinked a few times, squinting through the fluorescent bulbs, and he noticed the dark figure of the Collector approaching. He wasn’t wearing his mask, something that made Arkin feel a bit nauseous. He had seen the man’s face many times, but what about Abby? It meant there was no way he would let her go willingly. That only made him all the more tense, and the man staring him down with those glowing eyes didn’t help. “ _ Abby, have you been good?” _

She released Arkin’s hair, moving just slightly to the side and tilting her body down in a partial bow, partial cower. “I’ve been good, I’ve been good. I fed him, we ate together, we got more sleep, I was good,” her words seemed ever so panicked, and Arkin had to hold himself back from trying to get between them. He didn’t seem angry at her, and trying to shift his attention would probably only irritate him. 

The man across from them seemed to study them, nodding after a few moments. Whatever he had been so curious about, he seemed to have found his answer. He went around the cage, climbing the ladder up quickly before sliding down the other one. He loomed over them, and clearly he enjoyed casting a shadow across them, because he adjusted to have both blocked from the light. He raised a hand, brushing it across Abby’s hair, smiling down at her. Arkin was glaring, but even he knew it was half-hearted. He was just too beaten down, too tired to hold the look. Finally, he let it slip, eyes drooping at the edges, mouth smoothing into an indifferent line. He stared up at the man, waiting for his next move, locking eyes with him.

The unmasked man only let his smile grow, turning into a sadistic smirk. Well, Arkin knew he wasn’t going to like whatever the man had planned.

…

Arkin was leaning against the cage, shirt pushed halfway up his back, one shoulder partially bared by the Collector’s hand pulling the collar low. Arkin was letting out little snarls and hisses, a few angry curses breaking out. The Collector, for his part, was absolutely burning with pleasure. He had the smaller man bent over, pressed into the face of the cage, spread wide and twitching around the Collector’s cock. He had only just pushed the head in, but Arkin was already fighting him, trying to move away, trying to hide how much he liked it, and that was even  _ better  _ than the tight, trembling flesh squeezing around him.

He let out a long sigh of air, smirking as he leaned over Arkin, sliding in further, suppressing a chuckle as the smaller man groaned, tightening and pressing back slightly. “ _ So tight. Seems like you’re enjoying this. And it only took a few days, my little  _ **_whore,_ ** _ ”  _ he purred, liking the angry hiss the man let out.

It was the last day. He had mere hours before Arkin would be in the hospital, he would be preparing to catch him again, and this old hotel would no longer be of use. He had the gasoline ready, the hotel prepped, even Abby was ready for the next few days. So all that had been left was large amounts of fierce, tantalising,  **delicious** sex, made all the better by Arkin’s little sounds of pleasure. He thrust shallowly, aiming for a whine, settling on the little grunt he got in its place. It was especially pleasant when Arkin rocked back, head dropped down, a deep pant echoing down from the bottom of his chest, rumbling up into a moan.

The Collector let go of his shoulder, pulling him close across his chest, one hand pulling his hips closer as he sank in fully. The two moved together, and Arkin tilted his head straight up, mouth open, jaw shuddering. The unmasked man rocked in faster, rubbing against the tight inner walls and pressing kisses along his neck. “ _ Do you know who you belong to? Hmmmm?” _

Arkin let out a short sound, something similar to a snort, but it was quick to turn into a gasp. “Don’t...fucking...fucking...ah! Don’t belong...to...you!”

There it was again. He always denied, but it was never,  _ I don’t belong to anyone!  _ It was,  _ I don’t belong to you.  _ He went slower, moving in such a way that finally drew a long whine from Arkin. “ _ Tell me,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ Who. Owns. You?” _

This was the last time they would be doing this for a while, and he needed to hear him say he belonged to the Collector; he had let him off the last few times, but  _ now- _

Slowly, he pulled out, the head of his cock slipping free into the cool air. He moved his hand down Arkin’s hip to his ass, pulling one cheek to the side, thumb slipping inside the tight, slick hole. It was clenching and unclenching, and Arkin squirmed in his grip, clearly hot and bothered by the sudden removal. “ _ Do you want this? Do you want me to shove my  _ **_dick_ ** _ back inside you, you needy  _ **_bitch?”_ **

Arkin stayed silent, but he shivered and shook the entire time. His mouth was pressed against his arm, and he was clearly trying to rein himself in, but the thumb rubbing and pressing in slowly, a little at a time, stopping at his knuck. Arkin couldn’t stand it. He crumpled, falling full-body against the cage, thighs trembling. He sank to the ground, and the Collector felt a surge of satisfaction when he saw drips of cum splattered on the concrete. He leaned down, gripping him around the shoulders and pulling him up, dragging him to the bed. It had been fun to slam Arkin against the cage and bend him over, but now he could take his time, be more careful and controlled. He turned him on his back, enjoying his unfocused, confused expression. He pushed his legs apart, directing his nearly aching dick with one hand, tweaking a nipple with the other.

Arkin let out a yelp that turned into a surprised cry as he was entered, scrambling to hold onto the man’s shoulders. He was begging him to go slower, to stop because it hurt, but he was already getting hard again. It was only halfway, but clearly it couldn’t hurt that badly if he was enjoying it.

No, it probably did hurt a bit, but it didn’t really matter; he wanted to  _ enjoy  _ his last day with Arkin, and he didn’t have time to tie him up. Two days earlier, he had experimented, sending Abby away and tying Arkin’s hands up to the top of the bedposts. Then, he had spent the next hour tormenting him to the edge of orgasm, only to fervently pull it away.

_ Arkin was a snarling, whining, cursing mess. He hadn’t cried yet, no tears were trailing down his cheeks, but the smaller man was flushed and sweating, tugging and pulling his arms in every which direction, drool sinking into the thin sheets and smearing across his cheeks. “You motherfucker, you better let me go, you fucking faggot, I’ll rip your balls off and shove ‘em down your throat, you  _ **_fucking COCKSUCKER!_ ** _ ” _

_ The screams were just the release the Collector wasn’t allowing him to have. They were getting more vulgar the longer he didn’t get to cum, and any moment now, Arkin would break and start begging for mercy. “ _ **What a nasty mouth you have,** _ ” he chuckled, fingers massaging Arkin’s prostate, his other hand clamped around the base of his penis. “ _ **Should I shove my dick in it and wash it out?** ”

_ “WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS, I’LL STAB YOUR DICK UNTIL IT TURNS INTO A CUNT, YOU PISS-SHIT, PUSSY-ASS COCKSUCKING-“ _

_ The Collector shoved his fingers into his mouth, choking him as he adjusted up, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, already sticky and hard. “ _ **Get ready to have your mouth washed out.** ”

The memory was still fresh in his mind, and he pushed Arkin’s legs up, going for a better angle. Arkin hadn’t gotten off for two days before his little premature mess from some light teasing, he  _ wanted  _ to cum, and a few drops of semen weren’t enough. “ _ You want to get some release? Some  _ **_real_ ** _ release? Who, owns,  _ **_you?”_ **

Each thrust was making Arkin cry out, and each whined out curse left the unmasked man ravenously, deliriously hungry. He went for his throat, sucking and kissing, fingers pressing and pinching his nipples. “NO! NO ONE!”

“ _ SAY IT!”  _ He was starting to get impatient. The fight was fun, but he  _ needed  _ to hear it.

He ground down hard, and Arkin let out a stuttering gasp. “Fuck! The-re-“ Arkin begged, but the larger man held his position.

“ _ Say it,”  _ he growled, moving a mouth down to suckle on a nipple.

Arkin was squirming, trying to replicate the pleasure, but the Collector was adamant, unmoving. “Not...yours…” Arkin sneered. “You can fuck me as much as you want, you can even kill me. Ain’t fucking yours.”

The Collector snarled, seething. He needed something,  _ something! _ He bit down hard, right around Arkin’s nipple. It was amazing, tasting his skin again. Arkin fought him, but it was easy to push his hands away. He released his teeth, and seeing the bite clear across the skin was  _ powerful.  _ It was  _ his  _ mark, one Arkin couldn’t deny, and it circled his nipple, the skin red and clear. “ _ I’ve made you mine,”  _ he groaned, shoving in further, moving sensually, enjoying the squeeze of fleshy walls as Arkin was able to finally have his sweet spot touched again. 

He cried out after a particularly long thrust, arching and squeezing, and he let his own teeth sink into the Collector’s shoulder, muffling a whimper as he moved his hips in time, tightening with each thrust.  **GOD.** The movements became a frenzy of kissing and touching and claiming lovebites all across his skin, heat and pleasure and comfort all building until it crashed over, Arkin slumping under him as he came across their stomachs. The Collector’s arms trembled, but he stayed still for a few moments, just treasuring the warmth and the calm. Arkin seemed to be fighting sleep, but he was steadily losing, and the Collector knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.

He pushed himself up, pulling out and watching the thin trail of semen drip down and soak the sheet. He smiled slightly, watching it spill out, and stood, reaching down for some tablets. It was better for Arkin to stay asleep this time. “ _ Have some water before you sleep, Arkin. I’ll take care of the rest.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, we get into the second movie, the kidnapping of Elena, Arkin’s escape, the whole nine yards!:)


	41. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back after a while! Sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy. A quick warning, I have changed the start of the Collection because I prefer taking a different approach. Also, minor warning for gore, but it isn’t graphic.

Elena was not enjoying her night out, not anymore. How could Brian do this to her? What more could he want? How dare he embarrass her! She stormed into the restroom, glad to be away from the thrum of music and heat of bodies. She wiped at her eyes, turning toward the stalls, but stopped, suddenly confused. The restroom was entirely empty aside from a large red trunk in the very center of the room. It was worn and beaten up, and there were strange, dark stains on it. She didn’t know if she should even get close to it, but she wanted to know what was inside it. It didn’t move, and she stepped a bit closer. She thought she heard a scream, but she wrote it off; it was probably just someone enjoying themselves on the dance floor.

She leaned down, reaching a hand out, and she heard another scream, but it seemed different, not happy. Still, she kept going, hand moving forward, touching the top buckle and unlatching it. She let out a little shout and jumped back as the trunk shuddered, moving sharply in all directions. She fell back, shocked, and to her horror, a heavy whirring started suddenly, a large harpoon shooting and hitting straight into the ground in front of her, inches from her feet, cracking the cement. If she hadn’t fallen, she would have been standing right there…

She shook, eyes wide, Brian completely forgotten. If she hadn't have fallen, she would have been run through. She shook, staring at the trunk, gasping for air; she didn’t understand, was this some sort of sick prank? She reached around, searching her whole body, but it was stupid to even try; she had left her phone at home so her dad wouldn’t follow her when she went out. She always just used Missy’s…

Missy! Missy would help her! She stumbled to her feet screaming as the box shook again, and she pushed open the bathroom door. 

And it only got worse.

…

Arkin had been awake for an hour or two, and all he had heard was thrumming music and excited, loud laughter. He had shifted a few times, trying to find a way out, but it was obvious where he was.

He was at one of the Collector’s sick parties, and this time,  _ he  _ was the bait. What was strange was how clean he felt, how fresh his clothes seemed against him, the comforting coolness of his skin, even the slight dampness of his hair. He was  _ very  _ clean, more than he had been for weeks, even before he was taken, and he couldn’t feel any chains holding him in place. He was able to move freely, or as freely as a trunk allowed, and he sat, thinking. Why would the masked man take him somewhere if he didn’t plan to chain him in place? He may be too weak to escape, but if someone opened the trunk he  **would** do his best to escape. It just didn’t make sense!

It was a lifetime later that the door to whatever room he was in was pushed open, and he heard soft crying. It sounded like a girl, but he stayed silent, unsure if moving would help his situation. The sobs stopped after a few sniffles, and she let out a few deep breaths before she began to move closer to him, stopping a few feet away. She had to be close enough to open the trunk now, but would she? 

_ Open the trunk. _

Shit! If he was bait, why wouldn’t he be chained? Because she wouldn’t get to OPEN the box! He leaned back, ready to toss his weight forward and scare her, and he heard the top latch open, snapping loudly, the sound of something else snapping at the same time sending him into a panic. He launched himself into the side of the trunk, and it shook, moving slightly under his weight. He heard the girl let out a sound of shock, and the sharp buzzing of something mechanical. To his horror, he heard the loud crash of something smashing against the ground, and nothing more.

She could be dying alone, and it would be his fault!

He slammed his body against the side of the trunk again, and he heard a scream before the door opened, letting in distant shrieks and panicked sounds. It had already begun. He needed to get out, and get out fast, because if he didn’t, he would be going back to that hellhole, some poor soul in tow. 

…

The hall was splashed with blood, people having fallen around in unmoving piles. She let go of the door, stumbling toward one woman that was still moving, a hand over her throat, and she looked up, face scrunched in pain. She mouthed the word,  _ help,  _ and her hand dropped, revealing a long, deep gash that exposed the inside on her neck, showing off veins and muscle and horribly flapping skin. She let out a long cry, moving away from the wall and running straight back to the dance floor; maybe she could get someone’s attention, get them to help her, maybe they could call the police. She just wanted to see Missy again, to go home where her dad and Lucello would keep the horrible danger away.

She got to the exit of the hall, but it was even worse out there. A cage had closed off the hall from the dance floor, and she could see a few people looking around in shock and horror, banging on the walls of the cage. And inside was Missy.

She could hear something moving, something massive starting up as she got close, all the unfortunate victims in the cage looking up, Missy letting out a scream of fear. Elena got to the catch, yanking on it from the other side, looking around and holding back tears as she became more and more desperate. She could clearly see what was moving now, and she knew what would happen if she couldn’t get through the bars; the ceiling was coming down, the dark figure of a man standing atop it only making her stomach squirm in fear. She dropped to her knees with Missy as the ceiling got lower, sobbing as Missy begged her to help. She was doing everything she could, but she couldn’t even begin to shift the bars. “No, no!” She screamed, sight blurring.

Missy’s lips shook, but she set it firmly. “Don’t look!” She screamed, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Elena shook her head, still looking for a way to free her friend. “I need to get you out!” She sobbed, but it was way too late; the top of the cage was pressing down on the people inside, and loud cracks and shrieks filled the area as bones were snapped and crushed beneath the hard steel bars. Her eyes widened as she saw the skin burst open across Missy’s forehead, a brief flash of white quickly overtaken by dark red blood. She watched as Missy’s arms flattened, muscle spilling out like Play-Doh as the cage squeezed her like a fleshy water balloon. She saw others equally as destroyed, even seeing bone stabbing through broken arms and legs, and her eyes looked up to the man looming above her, only some steel bars separating them.

His eyes  _ glowed.  _ She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t think of any human being that had  _ glowing  _ **_eyes,_ ** but there he stood, tall and wide, tilting his head as he took her in, crying and on her knees before him. And then, he smiled.

And she knew that this  **THING** was NOT human.

His eyes were completely empty of sympathy or guilt, in fact he looked  _ proud; Proud  _ that he had left her so horrified,  _ proud  _ he had allowed a group of terrified

young adults to be crushed beneath his feet,  _ proud  _ of the carnage surrounding him. Worse though was the way he looked behind her, jerking his chin as he produced a key.  _ Go, run and hide. Give me a chase.  _ He was going to chase her. Oh, God, this maniac was going to  _ chase  _ her. She backed away from the bloody pool that was stretching toward her, back down the hall, turning away from the man as he reached for the edge of the cage.

_ God, please, someone help me! _

…

Arkin was searching for any way to open the remaining buckle, slamming the trunk around again and again, his shoulder aching dully. He couldn’t just sit here in silence anymore, he  _ knew  _ the horrible murder party had started! His finger shook as he yanked at the edge of the trunk lid, trying to pry half of it open and maybe snap the lock. Even as the walls creaked around him, he couldn’t manage to force the lid open. As he shimmied and tossed himself around, he hit the edge of something to his left. He stopped, heart clenching for a few horrible seconds as he waited for a boot to kick the side, but nothing came. He experimentally shook the box, hitting the object again, and he helped as something jabbed his shoulder through the thick leather. It hadn’t ripped the fabric, but it had still been sharp enough to hurt. He pressed the trunk into it, feeling the edge and shape as best as he could. He could make out that it was some kind of pole, and it had stayed entirely in place, though he had no idea why.

He pressed it against the wall of the trunk again, and found the rounded top edge. If this was even a little bit sharp, he should be able to cut through the fabric and strong, firm lining of the trunk! He placed a hand on either side of the indentation, pressing closer, trying to force it back and forth. He felt a rush of excitement when he heard a faint sawing sound. It was inconsistent, sometimes turning into a smooth rubbing of fabric against metal, but he found the right motion, and kept going, hearing the faint sawing turn into a loud tearing of cloth. The thicker, inner burlap was harder to slice through, but he worked on it, pressing his fingers against the pillar with all his strength. Then, the burlap ripped, and his shaking, cold fingers slid across rough metal, slicing the tips open slightly. He pulled his hands back, sucking on his fingers, pressing it against his chest.

He took a few heavy breaths, trying to be as silent as he could. Had the masked man heard him? Was he watching? Was this...was this some sick sort of game? Or was he finally able to break out? He could hear the faint buzzing of dubstep and the stark silence beside that; no screams, no laughter, no roar of voices, just silence. He reached out, pulling at the edge of the torn fabric, and his fingers bumped against the metal pole. He tugged, and the burlap shifted, pulling and snapping a few of the strands. It was much harder to pull open than he had imagined, and his fingers ached from the pressure. He kept pulling, and the thick material finally gave way, leaving a long slash down the length of the trunk. The outer fabric was easier to tear through, and suddenly, the cold cement floor was there, pressed against his fingers, the white light blinding him.

The air was thick with the smell of blood, but he didn’t feel that same dread anymore; he was out of the trunk, and he could get away! All he needed was a window, and he would be free…

He crawled toward the door, gasping for air as his heart jumped in his chest. He could do this, he could do this…He made it to his feet, pushing the door open stumbling out into the hall. Bodies were everywhere, but they were relatively intact, not as horrifying as Davie’s, but he still choked on the coppery air. The sound of shuffling, frantic steps had him looking to his left, and he noticed a girl. She had short hair and was crying, and she was running at him. She stopped suddenly when she saw him, and her eyes darted between him and the door to the bathroom, lips trembling. He blinked a few times, taking a breath before he caught sight of a looming shape behind the girl, and that familiar dread settled in his stomach, crawling up his throat. 

The Collector was behind the girl, and his eyes were glowing. Worst of all, he had that awful fucking smirk on his face, the one he wore just before he made Arkin do something humiliating, and he was staring right at him. He was  _ pleased  _ he had gotten free.

_ He’s gonna fucking kill me,  _ Arkin thought, stumbling back, and his foot hit one of the nearby bodies.

_ He’s gonna fucking kill me.  _ **_I can’t die here._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided it would be strange for Arkin not to move if someone is opening the trunk, and if the trunk moves, the device that would shoot a harpoon would be activated. I think it would be most interesting for Arkin to have to forcibly escape, and for the Collector to be more in control of the situation.
> 
> Now, on a separate note, I had to take a break due to my mental health. I love writing this story, but I suffer from PTSD, and sometimes I have to focus on other things for my own well-being. I plan to continue to work on this, and I hope to have another chapter out soon. Everyone, I hope you’re doing well, remember to take care of yourself!


	42. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry for the wait, I just started up work again for the webcomic I’m a part of, so it’s been crazy. Right now I’m sick, and I wanted to work on something I enjoy, so here you are! Enjoy!

Elena had made it to the end of the hall, and there was a man there. He was bruised up and didn’t have on any shoes, but he looked fairly clean. She hadn’t seen this man down here before, and the only thing she could think was that  _ this  _ was the man inside the trunk. He saw her at the same time, and he turned, eyes widening in shock. He had focused his eyes just behind her, and his whole demeanour changed. He tensed, face going pale, and his mouth dropped open. Elena felt like she might throw up, she went to go turn, but the man shouted, “Look out!” It was urgent, and he reached out one hand toward her, trying to pull her away.

She had barely turned her head a quarter of the way when large arms circled her torso, yanking her back and squeezing so hard, she couldn’t breath. She clawed at the hands, but it was useless; she had been caught by that  **monster.**

…

Arkin saw the girl get pulled away, and he slid his eyes around, searching for an escape. He saw a large window, but if he tried to jump through, he could cut himself to ribbons, maybe even not break through all on his own. He needed something to smash the window, something to protect him as he fell…

His eyes caught sight of a man near the window, clearly already dead, and he yanked at the man, arms straining to lift him. He balanced the weight against him, glancing back for a moment, then tossing himself straight at the window. The impact was harsh, causing him to tense and flinch as his bones ached. The glass gave way completely and showered around them, and he fell, the sudden weightlessness leaving him feeling hazy. That fuzzy fluttering in his stomach quickly gave way to agony as he slammed down hard, half on thick flesh, half on twisted metal, and his arm snapped, burning up his elbow and bicep and down his wrist. He let out a cry, swivelling onto his back and glancing down at his arm. He could see bone and blood, and it had torn through his shirt, making him feel sick.

His eyes fluttered away, sliding up toward the window, and he saw it; the masked man was looking down on him, and their eyes locked. He had this sinking feeling that this was expected, that the masked man wasn’t as angry about this as he should be, and that had him squirming and pushing to his feet, stumbling around glass as fast as his feet could carry him and toward the bright streets ahead, gasping with each step. He had to find help, he had to get away from that man before he suffocated on the sensation of ropes and chains holding him down… 

As frantic as he was to get to safety, he had this almost hysterical relief at the open spaces around him. He was free, he was out of the cage, out of the bed, out of the awful hell house that had left scars on his very mind. He was free! He let out a short giggle, high and airy, and finally got out the words. “Somebody...please...help...help me, somebody...Somebody! SOMEBODY PLEASE! HELP ME!”

…

The girl hadn’t fought him much, only swinging an elbow back that had entirely missed him. He shoved her in the red trunk, latching it closed as she screamed for help, and let it there for a moment. He wanted to know how Arkin escaped. The bathroom was close to the end of the hall, and as he turned back, he heard a large crash and a faint shout of pain.  **_ARKIN._ ** The masked man ran down the hall, avoiding the path of the traps and heading for the window. It was broken into fragments that had splashed across the floor, but there was blood on the window and it had his jaw clenching in angry panic. No, Arkin couldn’t lose any more blood, he would die! He peered out the window, and to his relief and pride, Arkin was on his back, holding his arm and looking around. One of the meaningless little fucks from the party was crunched to one side, a bloody mess of sliced up skin and torn flesh.

Arkin had used the man to break through the glass.

The masked man felt a thrill of desire curl up his spine. Arkin had been so beaten down, so soulless the last few days, it was fantastic to see him use his mind to free himself again. Their eyes locked, and he could see the pain and exhaustion shift into determination, the man setting his mouth into a gruff line as he shuffled to his feet. He had made his decision, and he had chosen survival. God, imagine the fights they would have when he was back at full capacity…

The Collector pulled away from the window, turning to the bathroom and going for the trunk. It was still closed by one latch, and the harpoon was embedded in the floor, but no body. There shouldn’t have been a way to get out…

Then, he saw it; red leather and white burlap had been torn open, the loose fabric leaving an opening wide enough for even him to crawl in and out of easily. He studied the opening, running the edge of his glove across the torn material, and he smiled.  _ He hasn’t lost that delicious fight… _

The Collector stood, turning back to the door quickly. He needed to move fast. If anyone saw Arkin fall or if he found help, it wouldn’t be long before the authorities arrived, and he was NOT planning on being captured today. He made his way down the grimy hall, stepping around the blood pools and grabbing the top of the red trunk. He needed to get his place ready; he only had a handful more of his Collection he needed to deal with, and then he was free to take his favorite pieces and leave.

…

Arkin couldn’t remember exactly what happened after he had started running. It was almost as if he had blacked out and just kept going. He briefly remembered cold gloves, and a woman reassuring him, asking him for his name. He doesn’t remember answering. When he finally did come to, he was in a faintly lit room, and everything was blurry and wobbly. He felt oddly drowsy, as if something was pulling his eyes closed even as he wanted to move and look around, and as he blinked to try and clear his vision, he noticed a familiar, heartbreakingly lovely face. “Lisa,” he barely managed to breathe out, voice gravelly and rough, and she smiled at him.

He could tell she had been crying, and her smile seemed a bit sad. His eyes weakly crawled across the room, then back to her. Where was…”Cindy?” He mumbled, and she gently touched his cheek. He could barely feel it.

“She’s safe. We’re both safe.”

Her voice cracked as the sentence ended, and she looked away. Arkin went to lift a hand, but it caught on a familiar metal. He looked down, unease churning in his stomach, and his heart sank at the faint glimmer of metal. He was cuffed to the bed. Like a criminal. Like he was the monster who attacked people, not the one who escaped that monster. He let his head fall back, crushing his lips together and squeezing his eyes shut, and he felt Lisa’s hand take his. This was awful! “I know,” she whispered, but she  _ didn’t. _ She  _ didn’t  _ understand!

He gingerly moved his other arm, stiff and faintly numb from the IVs and monitors attached. Fortunately, it wasn’t cuffed down, and he was able to awkwardly reach over and cover Lisa’s fingers with his own. She just wanted to help, just wanted to comfort him, he shouldn’t be angry with her…

He let his eyes slide open and just watched her for a few moments. She searched his eyes, studying him before she sat up, blinking repeatedly and clearing her throat. She looked heartbroken, as if whatever she had looking for hadn’t been there, and he felt his heart sink even further. He knew that look, it was the look on Lisa’s face when he was found guilty. It was the look she had when she told him she was divorcing him. It always was filled with such sadness, like she couldn’t contain the pain and disappointment inside her anymore. It always meant the end.

“Here, Arkin, someone brought you flowers,” she said, trying to brighten her voice, but it was still brittle. He looked over, not wanting to see that awful expression anymore, and landed on a pretty bouquet. It was 

clearly expensive, and a note was placed across the top, resting on the petals and leaves.

It struck Arkin suddenly that Lisa hadn’t got this. She brought it up like she hadn’t, at least. “Hand me the card,” he rasped, voice gravelly and thick. His throat hurt.

She plucked the card out, handing over the otherwise blank paper. Across it was a few simple words, printed out in crisp, black letters.  **_For The Collection: Get well soon, can’t wait to meet the family._ **

Cold sweat broke out across his forehead, and his fingers clenched, tightening on the thick paper. This man knew where he was, he had gotten a bouquet in and no one had noticed, he had already tried to attack his family, and if they stayed near him-

_ He could see Cindy, eyes wide and scared, screaming and reaching out to him as the man pulled her away, knife raised high, Lisa laying in a puddle of blood.  _

He crushed the card, still staring at it. “Arkin?” Lisa was holding his shoulder, and she sounded confused. 

“Leave now. You gotta go to your mom’s place, stay away from anyone who says they know me, take Cindy and go!” His words were firm, but desperation slowly crept in, and his hands began to shake.

“Arkin, wha-“

“Please! Please, you gotta go, you need to be safe!” He couldn’t even keep his voice calm anymore. He could hear the fear, the urgency. He couldn’t let anything happen to them!

It was at that moment a nurse came in, and he went to usher Lisa away. But he needed to know she would leave. “Promise me!” He said, voice sharp.

Lisa looked back at him, and she nodded, eyes wet again. “I...I promise. We’ll stay safe.”

Then, she was gone, the words brittle and miserable. Arkin let the nurse look him over, and he watched hopelessly as he was administered a sedative. At least they would be okay. At least they would be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, we get some confrontations, we find out what was wrong with Arkin, and we get Lucello coming in with an offer Arkin can’t refuse.:) Stay tuned!


	43. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Soon, we get back to the murder hotel again, but for now, let’s see what’s going on. Hope you enjoy.:)

Elena has been in the chest for hours, and she was feeling numb in some places. The fear had faded to a mild anxiety, and she now was checking herself over. Was there anyway for her to get out of this alive? She held her breath as she shuffled around, afraid she might trigger something and that she would be done for, but nothing happened. Finally, she twisted toward a spot of light and she peered out, worried about what she would see, and she was not disappointed. She grimaced at the strange containers spread everywhere, eyes and snakes and fingers floating in formaldehyde like disturbing science projects. Other than the strange jars, she saw splashes of dried, crusting blood on what looked like a metal table. The lighting was just so strange, it was so bright but shadowy, as if it was one bare bulb shining down on the edge of the table.

As she moved to observe more of the room, she heard the small click of a door handle, and she tensed, heart racing faster and faster until it physically hurt. She pulled away from the hole, covering her mouth with a hand to stay as silent as she could. She whimpered, but it was muffled in her hand. For a few seconds, she stayed like that, listening to the door creak open, then she heard the screech and strange shudder of metal. It sounded almost like a cart with wheels was being pushed across the floor, and she cautiously moved closer to the hole again. What she saw was anything but pleasant. A bruised and bloodied man was splayed across a metal cart, and he was whimpering and crying. His head stopped close to where she was, and she watched as he started blubbering and begging. “Please! Please don’t do this!”

She saw the dark, looming shadow of a man standing over the injured man, and she shrunk in fear when she recognised him. It was the crazy man that had grabbed her! She covered her mouth, trying to hold in the terrified scream she wanted to release, and she managed to stay quiet as he seemed to pick up something. She glanced away when she realised it was a pair of gardening shears, the type you use to cut flowers and bushes. She didn’t want to look back when she heard muffled cries, but she just couldn’t help herself. She looked up and saw the shears on either side of the man’s tongue, which was pulled out of the injured man’s mouth and squashed between the masked man’s fingers. She was frozen, eyes wide and unblinking as she watched the sharp metal cut past the first layer of skin, blood immediately pooling and spraying out, choking the man as he jolted, the shears fully closing, slashing half of his tongue straight through. 

The man was jerking and flailing wildly, but it didn’t help him at all. Instead, it just tore his tongue further, making the masked man chuckle as he readjusted his shears. Then, he cut the other half, and Elena could clearly see the flesh and veins on the inside of his tongue. She could see it directly spraying out, leaving bloody drips everywhere, and she closed her eyes, trying not to vomit. She couldn’t keep watching. She listened as his cries trailed off, and the crazy man moved around, shuffling back and forth. She heard the man get more wild, snarling and gnashing his teeth loudly, and she heard the heavy click of a stapler gun, but she refused to look back. She didn’t want to know what was going on, she couldn’t put herself through that anymore. 

It was about half a minute later that she heard the wheels squeaking again, the metal screeching as the moaning man was pushed away, further and further until she couldn’t hear it anymore. She slowly slid an eye open, and she could still only see the half-lit room. Opening both eyes, she scrunched up her chin and tried to look further. Where was the man? Had he left the room? Was he going to leave her alone? Before she could think further, an inhumanly bright eye peered back at her, the pupil wide and the man otherwise silent. She gasped, pulling back, just managing to hold in a scream as her back hit the opposite side of the trunk. The man stared in at her for a few moments before letting out a little laugh. It was even colder than when he was standing over that man, cutting into him.

“ _ Hello there.” _

…

Jim’s eyes snapped open suddenly when he heard the creak of the door opening. His shoulders and back were stiff and one of his feet was tingling, and he groaned as he sat up. God, he had been in this room for so long…

He looked up to see the man from before, Detective Sing, walking in, a file of papers tucked under his arm. He didn’t look at Jim, but his mouth was set in a tight line, tight enough to make the officer stomach turn. The detective sat down roughly, and it only made Jim all the more sickened. This was it, he was going to hear that they found his son’s body in some ditch. They were going to tell him it was too late, he was gone. He tensed his jaw until it hurt, trying to hold back the tears and grief, and he waited for the soul-crushing words to come. What he heard, though, left him feeling confused, uncertain. “Have you ever known Arkin to engage in sexual activities with men?”

The words didn’t make any sense, not because of the drawn out speech, but because it was about Arkin. It quickly dawned on him what had to be found to ask this question. “Is he dead?” He spat the words, feeling numb about it all.

The detective watched him for a moment. “No, he isn’t dead. Now, do you know if he engaged in any sexual activities with men?”

Jim didn’t feel any better about the question, but he answered him. “Can’t really speak for before I met him, but Arkin was married before he went in. I know they got divorced, but he never talked about doing anything in prison. Most I heard is that one of his friends knew a few guys inside, and it kept him outta trouble. Once he got out, him and his ex reconnected, said he was trying to make it work with her.”

Detective Sing closed his eyes for a second, forehead wrinkled, then reached into the file, pulling out glossy Polaroids. He put the pictures down, one at a time, and stayed silent, letting Jim take in the images. At first, Jim wasn’t sure what he was looking at; he could tell it was a man that had been badly beaten up, but he didn’t know who-

His eyes landed on the last photo, and he choked for a moment. It was a photo of Arkin’s face, a thin scar running across his forehead while bruises of various sizes and colours covered his face. His eyes were closed, and he had a split lip. Jim was horrified as he looked back to the other photos. He saw bruises all over the man’s body, cuts and scratches and even a few bite marks seemingly covering every square inch of skin. His back was the most damaged, puckered scars disappearing into bruises as they went down, long scratches and welts crisscrossing everywhere. The bites were shallow, but the skin was ragged, and his neck was purple in places. Whatever had happened was absolutely brutal, and it took him a few seconds to connect this to the question the detective asked. 

He didn’t want to, but he let his eyes travel around, taking in the strange marks across his chest and shoulders, the scraped wrists and ankles, and the scratches. He looked up to Sing, pity settling in his chest, and he asked. “Was Arkin raped?”

The detective didn’t answer, but his eyes said enough. Jim set his shoulders, closing his eyes and dropping his head. Arkin May be an ex-convict, but he was a good man. His dad had left early, and he had taken to stealing to eat some days. It had been all he had known, but he never wanted to hurt anyone; he just wanted a good life for his wife and daughter. To see him like this, so battered, so broken…

Jim looked up, feeling a cold fury build in his chest. “Did you find Trevor?” He asked so quietly, it was nearly a whisper, but Sing heard him clearly.

“No.”

The detective looked regretful, but Jim didn’t blame him. It wasn’t Sing’s fault that his son was caught by a serial killer. He stared down at the pictures, and felt tears come to his eyes. Dammit, dammit! He wasn’t gonna cry, Trevor needed him to be strong! He needed to be here if- _ when-  _ his son was rescued! Still, he felt the tears fall, leaning back and pressing his palms into his eyes to try and rub them away. If this is what he did to Arkin, what had he done to his son? Trevor had talked about knives and dogs and bombs, and it only made Jim let out a few soft sobs. What was that murderer doing to Trevor?!

Detective Sing watched silently as the officer cried, slowly pulling each picture back and properly filing it away. He let his eyes fall on the beaten chest of Arkin O’Brien, taking in the bites and bruises, and he sneered. This couldn’t be the Jigsaw killer, this wasn’t his MO. As much as he was a criminal, he let others choose if they lived or died, and this was just...animalistic. It was far too involved, far too...he couldn’t quite put it into words. It was as if Arkin’s attacker wanted to mark him up as much as he could. He had never seen TWO bite marks before. This was getting messier and messier by the second, and it was quickly looking like Jigsaw had nothing to do with all of this. Sing had enough on his plate, he didn’t need to deal with a second killer.

...

Arkin awoke late in the night. The halls were shrouded in low light and were completely empty, and he let his eyes roll around his head. The sedative they had given him had been very effective, and he felt his arms shiver and creak. He wanted to move, but he just felt so fuzzy everywhere…

Arkin had debated going back to sleep, but it didn’t really matter; he would feel just as caged and beaten down as he had in that god-forsaken murder house. So, he just laid there, listening for any sounds. It felt like hours later that he finally heard more than sheets rustling and nurses murmuring to each other. He heard footsteps, soft but in heavy boots, and he felt his heart immediately jump, chest getting tight at the sound. This was it, the Collector was coming back for him, he was going to die here, he couldn’t even protect his family-!

The man that entered his room was tall, but he wasn’t the Collector. He was older, maybe in his early forties, and he had a grim face, one that didn’t allow any arguments. “Who are you?” Arkin asked, still tense.

The man didn’t answer, just studied him silently. Finally, he spoke up. “I’m looking for a girl. You seen her?”

He held up a photo, and Arkin blinked. He knew this girl, it was the girl from the death party. He let his eyes turn to the man again, and he nodded. “That monster took her.”

The man gritted his teeth, and nodded. “Can you get us to where he keeps people?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Arkin meets the mercenaries, the Collector prepares to burn down the world, and Elena proves she isn’t just more cannon fodder.:) See you then!


	44. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, look who’s got a quick one out! And it isn’t too short, either! So, I did explain things would be a little different from the original movie, but not by much. Basically, I just changed it enough to fit with my current plot. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter, next time we get back to the murder hotel!

Elena didn’t know if she should move or not. The masked man was  _ terrifying,  _ but he didn’t seem too interested in hurting her. In fact, he seemed more interested in just studying her from where he was. She wondered what was going through the man’s head, hoping it wasn’t what she would look like without a tongue or some other gruesome image. Finally, he pulled back, stepping out of sight. “ _ Don’t worry, girl. I’ve decided to  _ **_keep_ ** _ you. Arkin will need some friends.” _

Elena blinked, confused. She didn’t understand, who was Arkin? The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She frantically tried to remember where she heard it, but it stayed vague and shapeless in her mind, niggling in the back of her brain. She looked around, trying her hardest to figure out where exactly the man had moved to. He had been loud enough before for her to hear where he stepped, but now, it was as if he had vanished. She finally heard the creak of a door, so far from her that she thought it had to be someone else. “ _ Don’t worry, girl, it’ll be over soon.” _

The door closed, and the light flicked off, leaving her in crushing darkness. This was awful. She needed to find a way out, she couldn’t just wait for someone to come and save her. If she did, she’d been dead.

…

Arkin pulled his shirt sleeve up over his cast, wincing as it brushed against some of the fresh scrapes from his jump. He marvelled at the fact he was standing here alone, in an open room that he could step out of without needing to get some guy off for food or safety. He let his eyes linger on his exposed wrist, feeling a bit empty at how thin and bony it was. The old scratches and torn skin was healing, and the scabs were a faded brown colour, but the bruises were still dark, dark enough that they ached when they were touched. He waited there, on the edge of his gurney, wondering if he was making the right choice.

The night prior, he had met a mercenary named Lucello. The man wanted him to lead a group of people to this murderer’s location, to the awful nightmare place he had been staying for the last week and a half, and if he did, they would make all of this go away. It was almost too good of a deal; no trial, no prison, no killer in a mask intent on destroying his family in front of him; just freedom.  **FREEDOM.** The word hadn’t meant very much to him in the last few years, but now it was all he wanted; he wanted to see Lisa and Cindy and Lisa’s overbearing mother that hated him, and the open fields of a park where the sun would warm his skin.

He brought his hand down to one forearm, pulling the shirt up and staring down at the long scars there. It had been so long ago that he had made those cuts, so long ago that he had been bleeding out in a trunk screaming about how he would kill the masked man that had tossed him in there. It was strange how empty he felt now. He had thought that the Collector couldn’t do anything worse to him, couldn’t tear him apart any worse than he had in that house. He had been wrong.

He heard the footsteps before he saw the man. He pulled down his sleeve, slowly standing as the man came into view. “You’re ready to go.” The man said, but it wasn’t a question. Arkin nodded anyway.

His stomach was bubbling a bit, and a bitter taste was crawling down his tongue from his throat. He let his eyes look across the room one last time, and he took notice of something glimmering in the vase next to his bed. With the lights on, he now realised something was between the stems of the pretty roses and full blooms, something deep red. He felt drawn to it, drawn to the familiar colour, and he felt some  _ need  _ to see what it was. “Hey, gimme a second,” he mumbled, walking over and pulling the flowers out, leaving the items sitting alone in the water.

Oh. 

A tiny silver chain was settled on the bottom of the vase, twisting and splayed out from a large gem in the center. It was the ruby from the Chase house. Thick, heavy duty wire was wrapped around it, cradling the uncut jewel in its hold, and intertwining together to make intricate chaining that led up to a large circle of metal. That metal had the chain necklace looped inside it, and he slowly reached in, scooping out the ruby. He remembered the weight of the ruby, the familiar shade darkening in the shade of his hand. He felt a shiver crawl up his back, leaving goosebumps and heat under his skin. He clenched his teeth, shaking as he stared down at the cold rock.  _ He could see the Chase family, scared and bloody, and that terror was pointed at  _ **_him_ ** _. They thought he would hurt them! He could see Victoria falling down the basement stairs, bloody and half-naked, Michael hanging from the ceiling while his guts spilled onto the floor, Jill stuck to the wall by long spikes, and the whole house smelled of  _ **_blood-_ **

Then, he lurched as a hand firmly grabbed his shoulder, pulling away and sneering at the man behind him. Lucello was giving him a strange look, as if he were insane, and he shook away the creeping darkness. He wasn’t playing some sick game with that man, wasn’t about to walk out and run into murder traps. He was safe. He let out a long breath, forcing himself to relax as best as he could, and he shoved the ruby into his pocket. He couldn’t leave the ruby here, he needed to make sure he had the one thing that could incriminate him from the Chase house. He may have broken in, but he didn’t steal it to hurt the family, he didn’t do anything but try and help them, and he  _ saved  _ Hannah! He rubbed at his eyes, not looking at Lucello as he was ushered out of the hospital room. He would help Lucello’s people find the murder house, but that was it. He couldn’t go back in.

Not if that man had this much control over him.

…

The Collector stepped into Abby’s room after he made sure his newest piece was still alive and breathing. She wasn’t really that special, she wasn’t Abby or Arkin, but he couldn’t help but like her; she had let him see how hard Arkin would work to escape, had brought the man back to life before his very eyes. Besides that, she was this tiny little thing that had such scared eyes, and Arkin wouldn’t be able to just sit by and watch her get hurt if he didn’t listen. The Collector supposed that was his fatherly urges coming out, because it always seemed to present itself when a woman or child was in danger. Hell, he could even argue that was why he had taken such a liking to the two shitbag teenage boys he had caught.

He unhinged Abby’s trunk, letting her out. He led her to the bathroom, leaving her there to relieve herself in privacy as he waited just outside the door. He hadn’t felt any need to watch her go to the bathroom for most of the months that he had, had her. Abby was so well-behaved, so sweet and honest. She killed with the same efficiency he did, and every time he saw her use a blade, he felt pride swell in his chest. He supposed this must be what it was like to be a parent, to nurture and shelter something small and weak and watch it grow into something strong. He had never found a piece he liked as much, not even Arkin, but he felt a different way for the man. He wanted to keep the wild man, wanted to tame him enough to see the hatred and fear turn into devotion. He wanted to foster this viciousness he sometimes saw in the man just as he had done for Abby. He wanted to see him enjoy  _ everything  _ they did together.

Abby knocked softly on the door, pulling him from his thoughts. He opened the door and smiled at her, and she smiled back, following him down the familiar halls to her room. Then, he sat her on the floor and went for a purse he kept in the room. It was filled with makeup, one of his pieces seemed to have an obsession, and he found he liked to put it on Abby; the action always seemed to soothe him. So, sitting across from her, he pulled out foundation to slather on her skin. Abby was already lovely, his proudest piece, but this time, he didn’t feel the same drive of pride as he always had. This time, his mind wandered back to Arkin. Would the man take the bait? Would he drag himself back to the Collector’s lair to protect his family, or would he run with them? Either way, he would find him, and he would see him die before he let the man truly be free.

“ _ Abby, don’t you miss Arkin?”  _ He spoke, pulling his hand back so she could answer, and she gave a short nod, eyes watching him adoringly.

“ _ I miss him, too. But I think he might be lonely. So when we see him again, we should make sure he has friends. The new girl is a good place to start, but I was thinking…”  _ he paused as he focused his attention on pulling some of her hair from the caked on foundation.

“ _ We should add the Chase girl if we can.” _

_ … _

When Arkin met the mercenary group, he instantly disliked most of them. They reminded him of Roy’s people, all broad shoulders and blank eyes and dangerous expressions. They set him on edge. Still, they were his only chance out of prison, and he had to put his trust in them. Lucello started with a presentation, and he finally found out who the girl was. Her name was Elena Peters, some rich guy’s daughter and his only family. “We’re going in for the girl tonight, and this man, Arkin O’Brien is our best chance to bring her home alive.”

Arkin spoke up, something about the words hitting him wrong. Lucello didn’t say it like he was a guide; he said it like he was a sacrifice. “Let’s get one thing clear; I’ll help you get there.”

He looked up, staring right through Lucello as he spoke. “But I will not go inside.”

Lucello nodded, and he spoke some affirmation, but his eyes were empty. Even as he said he understood, Arkin could see he didn’t. But even he knew it didn’t matter. He was going back to that hell house again, and this time, it wasn’t his fight. That much was enough to reassure himself. “Now tell us what we need to know.”

Arkin thought about where to start, eyes falling back down to his arm. “You wanna find this guy, you gotta start back at the beginning.”

_ He could still feel the chill of rain and the gritty mud sliding across his skin, rubbing it raw in some places as he was dragged from the ambulance.  _

“When he threw me into that red trunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m pretty sure the story will be over in the next ten chapters, some I’m pretty sure I’m ready for the big finale! After that, I will be taking a break between this and its sequel to write a different fanfiction with a friend. We’ve wanted for years to write a Twilight fanfiction where Charlie is a vampire Hunter and there is no romance to speak of, just dads trying really hard to keep their kids safe, and we finally have the time for it, so once I have a few chapters of the sequel saved up, it will be posted. For now, hope you absolutely have a great day, and I’ll see you next time.


	45. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Sorry for the wait, but the next few chapters should come quickly! I hope you enjoy!

Arkin was counting carefully, making sure he stayed even as he did so. They had made it to that terrible spot, that terrible place where the masked man had dragged him out of the ambulance and tossed him into that red trunk. The drive was even and completely calm, just the way it had been when he was in that trunk, and he could feel his stomach bubbling in discomfort. He could remember how much his body ached, the coppery taste of blood on the back of his tongue making him feel nauseous. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and come back to the present. He didn’t want to go back to the way it was all those days ago, afraid and in excruciating pain. He felt the car lurch over a bump, and he remembered it had happened before. 

_ Arkin lurched in the trunk, shoulder knocking against what felt like the wall of the van. He pushed himself up, counting and trying to stay on target. He could feel blood dripping down his arm, and the long slashes hurt, but he didn’t stop. He had to keep this up. He couldn’t let this man get away with it. He would make him  _ **_pay._ **

It had been so simple back then; he had thought he would escape, would bring the police right up to his little murder house, and would get to see the moon on his face when he was dragged away in cuffs. Now, he could feel the ghosts of fingers on the back of his neck, and a faint aching in his lower back reminded him of heated breaths and absolutely agonising pleasure. He pushed away the shameful memories, focusing on counting to himself, a dull ache in his chest. Why would he remember that? Why did he think about the monster he let-

No. He needed to keep counting, and stop thinking. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think at all.

…

Elena was struggling inside the trunk. She had been in here for what felt like days, and she had finally come up with a solution; she had been adjusting her bra, the wires stabbing her in the ribs, and she realised she could use it to get out. She had pulled it off, straining her fingers and pulling at the edges before ripping at it with her teeth, cutting her gums and effectively opening the thick fabric. She was able to use her necklace and the wire to create a makeshift hook, and she was currently trying to catch the hook on one of the latches. She bit her lip, straining to see where the wire was, slowly pulling it up and down. She could just see the top of the latch on this one side, but she couldn’t see the bottom, where the wire would catch. She pulled again, and held her breath as the wire caught, yanking slightly.

She slowly pulled the cord of her necklace, and felt her heart jump when the latch snapped open. Now, she needed to do the other one! She pressed against the walls of the trunk, and they creaked, a thin sliver of light falling across her. She could get out.

**She could get out.**

Elena slid her necklace out further, praying she would catch it on the lower buckle. For the first thirty seconds, she could feel the wire catch and then come free, and panic slowly twisted and turned in her stomach, getting stronger and stronger the longer it took.  _ I need to get out of here, I can’t leave dad alone like this. I need to get out, I need to get out!  _ **_I don’t wanna die._ ** She pulled hard, the wire again not catching, and she felt her heart sink. It was too late, she would die in this stupid box. She leaned her head against the top of the trunk, the wall moving slightly, and she hopelessly let the necklace hang down, pulling back on it once more.

And it caught.

She pulled on her necklace, not fully understanding what she had felt, and unbelievably, the lower latch opened, loudly unclasping and the walls around her splitting open under her weight. She fell out onto the floor, gasping and shivering at the chilly linoleum against her arms. She had done it. She had gotten out. She had gotten out! She flinched when she heard a loud slam nearby, and she scrambled to find a hiding place, heart pounding even harder. She couldn’t die here, she had just gotten free! She could do this! She could do this…

…

They had made it. Arkin had felt the road change under them, and he could tell the exact moment they needed to pull over. He opened his eyes, blinking and taking in the light around him, and Arkin saw decay and abandoned buildings all around. They were in an old warehouse area, and homeless men walked around aimlessly, eyeing the SUV they were in warily, shuffling away. He looked out around him, and he took notice of the building in front of them. It looked like a warehouse mixed with a hotel, and most of the windows and signs were boarded up and covered so no one could break in or out. It was the door that gave it away, though. It was dusty and a little grimy, but it had roughly three thick, shiny padlocks keeping it closed and inaccessible. He let his hand raise, pointing straight at the door, and his other one trailed up to pluck at the hidden ruby beneath his shirt, clenching it as his throat worked to swallow. “That’s it,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “That’s where Elena is.”

The SUV stopped suddenly, jolting him harshly forward, and one of the beefy men beside him slammed an arm over his chest, anchoring him in place. Lucello seemed to study the building from the front seat, silent, and Arkin took notice of how the man beside him hadn’t moved his arm. “You sure?” Lucello finally asked, and Arkin could hear something predatory in the words.

“Yeah. I’m sure of it,” he said, glancing over at the man beside him and minutely adjusting away. The man moved his arm to follow him.

Lucello spat out orders to the men around him, and Arkin immediately took notice of how they were planning on going in  _ now.  _ “Hey, would you let me go?” Arkin spoke up, glaring at the man beside him, and he sneered when he saw the glee and apathy in his eyes.

“Not yet,” Lucello, said. “We need some more help from you.”

Arkin could tell he wasn’t going to like this.

…

The Collector had finished making up Abby for the last time in this place, and she was safely tucked away in her own trunk when he went to go check on and feed the new girl. She had been in the trunk for nearly 24 hours, and he was certain she was hungry and had to relieve herself. He opened the door to the room, and flipped on the light, harsh whiteness painting the walls a sickly yellow. He found the red of the trunk, and took notice of how it was fully open and empty. Instead of frustration or anger, he felt a thrill of excitement. She was  _ gone,  _ but where? He was maskless at the moment, and when he took a look around him, he knew she couldn’t have gotten very far; he would have noticed. She might even still be in the room with him.

He smiled, and turned to a tall shelf with a jar full of spiders, reaching in and letting them crawl onto his hands one at a time. Then, he let them go, crawling freely across the ground, watching them make their way around the tiles. Under a shelf across the room, Elena’s eyes widened, blinking when she saw the creeping tarantulas moving toward her. She closed her eyes, squeezing her mouth closed, feeling a sob catch in her throat as fuzzy, itchy legs touched her skin. She had to stay quiet, she had to stay still.

The Collector had watched the tarantulas spread out, hiding under shelves and carts, and he was about to follow one when a loud alarm went off. Something was wrong. 

Someone was trying to break into his murder house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: welcome to the hell house!


	46. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it’s been a little while...I’m sorry about the wait, the season is just so busy, and I haven’t had time to write much. This is only a short chapter, but hopefully this helps tide everyone over. Enjoy!

Arkin was dragged out of the car by his good arm, and he cursed the exhausted distance in his mind. He wasn’t able to pull himself free. He shuffled his feet, catching himself and glaring the meathead down. “I can fucking walk,” he spat out, but the man didn’t care to do more than push him forward. Lucello walked beside him, letting him take the lead, and Arkin walked with uncertain feet. He didn’t want anything to do with this place, didn’t want to be this close. What if the Collector was still here? What if he saw him?  **What if he caught him?** He pushed away the feeling, walking purposefully up to the padlocked door, and turned halfway around, glancing between the building and Lucello. “What more do you fucking need, this is the place!”

Lucello lifted a hand, and inside of it was a black pouch. Arkin immediately knew what it was. He grimaced, feeling his heart jump. “We need you to unlock the door,  **Arkin,** ” Lucello said, and the look in his eyes was all too familiar.

It was a predatory look, one a hunter had while looking at prey. He had fallen into this trap so quickly, it was ridiculous! He could have spoken to the police, could have told them how to get here. Instead, he let some shady mercenary group convince him to come back to this hellish hotel to “get him completely off”. Yeah, maybe they would, but they were more likely to get him killed! He snatched away the pouch. “I’ll open the door, but I’m not going in! Do you understand?” He leaned in close to Lucello, face pulled into a deep frown.

The man nodded, but he was so nonchalant about it, it felt fake. He wouldn’t go into this damned house, never ever again! He pulled out a few of the thin metal tools, inserting them into each lock and slowly unlocking each one. It took him less than a minute to finish it, but it felt way too long. He turned to Lucello, shoving the pouch back at him. “There. Go save whatever her name is, I’m done.”

That was when he heard a gun click. It was coming from Lucello, though he couldn’t see where, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t see either of his hands. He had bother folded behind his back, but brought them forward as Arkin stepped back. “We  _ need  _ you, Arkin. You’re the only one who ever made it out of this place, now you’re gonna show us how.”

For a tense moment, he thought Lucello meant something else. He curled his lips back, sneering at the words and curling his arms around his stomach.  **No!** He would never let anyone touch him like that again, this man-!

He realised he was being stupid, though. It wasn’t fucking Lucello was interested in. He was both relieved and terrified when he was pushed toward the now open door. “Wait, man! At least give me something to protect myself!”

He  _ didn’t  _ want to go in. His legs had straightened and locked, making him stumble as he was pushed into the gloomy, dilapidated hall, but he still found himself blurting out the words. He couldn’t be back in this place unprotected.  _ He  _ would find him.  _ He  _ would  **_know…_ **

For a moment, Lucello studied him, then he handed over something long and cylindrical. It was a cold metal that had soft rubber at one and a plastic layer on the other. It was a flashlight.  _ This mother fucker.  _ Arkin bit his tongue, switching the light on and letting it illuminate the passage before him. Each step felt heavy and loud, but he swallowed his fear; go in, get the girl, get out. Go in, get the girl, get out.

…

As soon as the man was gone, Elena scrambled away, tossing large, hairy spiders off of her. She rubbed at her face, trying to brush away the phantom sensation of tiny legs settled there, and looked for another way out,  _ any  _ other way out. If she went through the door, that monster could find her! She pushed a cart to the side and found a large grate. She could see faint light falling down onto more cement, and pulled at the old metal, thankful when it came free. She crawled in before replacing the grate-cover, and pulled herself across the dinghy floor inside the ventilation tunnel, pushing away dead rats as she went. Her legs were beginning to go cold before stopping when she saw a warm glow falling through another covering. Peering into the room, she saw it was mostly bare with some make-up to one side and a box settled in the middle of the room. An old bed was pushed into one corner, and that was it. The room was so empty.

She went to the box, looking around more carefully this time. She didn’t need a harpoon to come at her again. She reached for the latches when she could find no holes or openings along the ceiling and walls, unlatching them at the same time. The sides of the trunk extended, and a blonde woman peered out, her face thickly coated in foundation. She looked uncertain and confused, but slowly creeped out into the light. “Wh-who are you,” she rasped, her voice thick and husky from lack of use.

Elena helped the tiny woman up, grasping her hands tightly. “I’m Elena. I was at a party when this man in a mask showed up. It was…” she couldn’t continue. Her eyes watered a bit but she blinked them away, looking toward the door. “Well, we need to get out of here. What’s your name?”

“I’m Abby,” the blonde woman said, reaching for a rag beside the make-up and wiping at her face. “We need to be careful. If not,  _ he’ll  _ be so angry!”

“Abby! He will  _ kill us  _ if he feels like it! We can’t just try to make him happy until he decides he likes us, we need to get out of here!”

Abby was silent, and she let out a long breath, nodding. “It’s okay, we’ll make it out of this,” Elena soothed, leading her toward the door.

She really hoped they would get out of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what’s gonna happen next, so hopefully that comes out much sooner. See you then!


	47. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with the next chapter. This one is still roughly on par with the movie, but with a few minor changes. Hope you enjoy, next time, things change a bit more!

The Collector moved toward the front of his house, deciding to put off catching the new addition for now. She couldn’t really get that far, and since he locked the door behind him, it was unlikely she would get out.  _ Of course, she shouldn’t have been able to get out of the chest, either…  _ He thought, but he wasn’t mad she broke out; in fact, he was delighted at how interesting she would be. Instead, he was skimming all the possible ways she had found to open the chest, planning to examine the thick material later to see if there was a hole large enough to open the latches. He was nearly to the front of the house, moving silently on the upper floor, and he reached down, sliding into a small room filled with screens. Each screen held a different image, each one showing a different part of the house. He focused on the screen that showed the entrance, a sneer pulling his lips back in disgust: a group of people, all armed and halfway past the camera, was strutting around his torture house.

The thought of these  _ trespassers,  _ no, these  **_maggots,_ ** stomping through his Collection, tearing it apart and leaving a mess behind had him fuming. Well, he would let his dogs out to punish these stupid maggots, and they would see who would tear apart who. Reaching up, he pulled himself onto the ladder, his biceps working smoothly to lift him, and made his way to the front, ready to follow the group from behind. He would pick them off, one by one, then trap them with his dogs. They hadn’t been fed since the stupid fucking police brat a few days earlier, so they were bound to be hungry.

…

The group hadn’t been moving for very long when the silence was broken by a sudden slamming of metal on concrete. “You gotta get me outta here, I can’t help you in here!” Arkin was feeling desperate now. He didn’t recognise anything in this hellish hallway, the only familiar part was the absolutely acrid scent of death and defecation that hung in the air.

Lucello had a gun raised at his side, flashlight in his free hand, and he glowered at Arkin now, no longer wearing that shit-eating grin. Now, he was being serious. “You already left her before, you aren’t gonna leave her now,” he snapped, and Arkin could feel the blame pushed onto him with those words.

It didn’t help that he wanted to agree. He could have done  _ something,  _ but he chose to leave her behind. “Fine,” he said, chest squeezing and burning in fear. “But at least give me a real weapon, I need to be able to protect myself!”

Lucello scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You got a fucking weapon,” he said, but he took a half-step closer, gun crawling back and forth. Well, at least he knew how to fight…

The further they went, the more ominous the hall felt; the faint light was tinged blue from bug zappers, and the air was chilly, but there were no doors and no other hallways. It was a funnel leading them to that damned man. Beside him, Lucello slowed, tilting his head as if listening for something, he murmured out a name, seemingly confused, but kept his face straight and continued forward, he had no clue the fate that befell one of his men.

…

Just inside of the door leading to the outside world, a tall, decked out man stood guard. He had been told to stay behind just in case and to keep an eye out for any runners, but everything had been quiet since they left. There was no movement, no action, just the faint smell of decay and piss from further in the condemned building. He stood, eyes slowly panning back and forth, and just as he released his hold on the trigger, he heard a sound above him. 

Before he could react, the weight of another man fell on him, and he was staggered by the sudden agony of a knife being plunged into his chest. The Collector had timed his fall perfectly, using the extra force of gravity to plunge the knife into the clueless ape beneath him, ripping the blade out viciously, he slammed it back down again, this time slashing open his stomach and getting a small cry of pain, continuing to brutally stab the man all across his torso, finally slashing the man across his throat. He let out a long gurgle as blood poured onto the cement, and the Collector stood, anger still pulsing in his stomach. Now, for the rest of these maggots.

He made his way back onto the upper floor, following the path the armed group had taken, and he finally saw them, all huddled together, one of them surrounded by the others as he was seated on the ground, a dead Dog nearby. The mutated creatures were the best option to destroy these intruders, and as he unlocked the latch, he thought he recognised the voice of one of the men. Where had he heard it, where-

…

The area was so quiet, even Arkin had let his guard down a bit. He had let his hand drop, eyes trailing from Lucello to the next segment of hall, not really paying that much attention to right in front of him. That was the moment something decided to happen. A man, covered in blood and disfigured, let out a high-pitched scream, throwing himself hard against a wire gate that separated them. Arkin jumped back, but the man was still moving, rounding a corner and tackling him to the ground. The smell of blood and rot wafted into his face, and he scrambled to push the ruined  _ thing  _ away from him.  _ What the  _ **_FUCK_ ** _ is this?  _ Nails dug into his shirt, and as the thing reared back to bite him, a shot went off, right into the creature’s head. It was kicked away, and he scrambled back toward the gate, his fingers searching for any scratches or scrapes. To his surprise, it was Lucello that had shot the demented man, crouching down to look him over before standing up straight again. “You look alright.” His eyes searched across the entirety of the hall, seeing no movement or person aside from them.

Then, one of the other men focused his flashlight above the creature's corpse, and his face went ashen. “What the fuck is this place?”

Bodies were piled high, high enough to almost reach Akron’s height, and nearly filled the large space hidden in shadows. It was clear the awful stench of  _ rot  _ came from here, but no flies buzzed around them. It was so silent and empty, it left Arkin feeling sick. He couldn’t stand the waiting anymore, couldn’t take this awful game! The woman reached down to pull off a mask attached to the dead man’s head, revealing a young face, blood pouring from his mouth. “His tongue is just...gone. His pupils are totally blown out! This doesn’t just happen. This man was on some hardcore drugs to get like this,” she mused out loud, eyebrows slammed together.

“He does these sorta things,” Arkin spat. “He tortures people who don’t listen to him. I doubt this is even the worst he’s ever done.”

Arkin was feeling so hopeless and angry now. Why did he come back here? Why! It didn’t make any sense; what, did he expect a mercenary group on a time crunch to uphold their end of the bargain? He made it out, and then stupidly agreed to come back. And now, he had a group of gun-toting, steroided-up meatheads forcing him around this hellhole without a real weapon. He couldn’t stay with them…

As he contemplated the best way to escape, he heard the faint creak of metal. It wasn’t really noticeable, almost so faint he thought it was someone’s bolts, but he felt his throat go dry. He hurried to his feet, eyes travelling up, and froze. He was staring up at the masked man, his eyes glowing brightly back and them, grated doors swinging open under him, and the two men’s faces changed. Arkin looked terrified, cringing backward, holding onto the thin light like it was a safety line, and the sneer on the masked man’s face slipped away, eyes widening in recognition. His eyes darted down, then back up to Arkin, and his face crinkled into a look Arkin had never seen. It almost seemed...worried.  _ Run,  _ the man mouthed, vanished back into the dark recesses above them, and the animalistic shrieks of people filled the area around them.

**_SHIT._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I didn’t originally plan for any Arkin/ Lucello, but I can make that a bit of a thing. :) I don’t want to disappoint, but it won’t be super obvious, but I will sprinkle it in for fun. To Nekoda, I will give the unpopular ship some love.;)


	48. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Now, I hope you’re excited for this chapter and the next one, cuz I am! Now, I hope you enjoy!

The Collector saw him standing there, skin highlighted in blue, eyes wide as they locked with his. It was Arkin, and he looked absolutely terrified. His posture had gone from confident and agitated to hesitant and withdrawn. He was reacting to  _ Him _ ; Arkin was so very submissive right now, and it was wonderful and awful all at the same time. If the smaller man wasn’t surrounded by all these potential threats, if these doors hadn’t opened to unleash drooling, biting, savage creatures, this would have been  _ perfect. _

_ Run,  _ he mouthed, regretting that he had to back away and leave the clearly still-recovering man to save himself. He supposed he would watch from afar, making sure he wasn’t overtaken, but how would he do so without giving away his position? His only real option was throwing knives. And here he thought things were about to get more fun...

…

Arkin was gripping the penlight in his hand until it hurt, and was staring into the open doorway. Dozens of people, men and women alike, covered in festering sores and open cuts were running at them, mouths slobbering and shrieking. The nearest one raised her arms, eyes black hollows in her face, one of the mercenaries aimed his gun, squeezing out a shot and sending her sprawling. Then, as if it was an invitation, the rest charged, making those same ungodly sounds. Arkin stumbled back, toward the pile of bodies, ready to turn the corner and run when someone shoved a shoulder in his back, forcing him closer.

In front of them, the creatures leapt, going for one or another of the mercenary group, and the air was filled with gunfire, each shot sounding like firecrackers. The creatures managed to leave a few small scratches and almost bit the woman across her face, but she kicked back the one standing closest, firing straight into its face. Arkin watched, avoiding and punching any creature that got too close, a strange numbness settling in his chest even as his heart burned with tension, seeing these men and women, reduced to drugged out animals, blown apart. He watched as a man with a mask stapled to his jaw jumped forward, tackling a tall, muscly mercenary right in front of him, going for his neck before he was shot and pushed away.Most of the creatures were dead, but the group quickly ran to his aid, all except Arkin, who stared for a moment too long. He heard a screech, and turned right into his own pair of rotting, putrid arms.

It was a woman, he thought, and she went to claw at his throat, protected only by his creaking cast. His other hand was still wrapped around the light, and as he twisted his hand back for a punch, he had an idea.

He kicked the woman away, holding the light between both his hands and waited for her to run back at him. She launched herself, bile dripping from her lips, and he shoved his arms forward, aiming for her eye. Even if the woman could think to stop, it would have been too late. Reinforced by the thick plaster of his cast, he was able to bury the light inside the fragile center of her eye. He had felt the squishy pop as her eye was skewered, then the resistance of the bone shattering under the pressure, then the smooth slide of it into her head, completely vanishing. He turned as she kept going, letting her body carry itself away, then watching it fall lifeless to the ground. She was dead.

Arkin was gasping, but he didn’t have a moment to wait; more screams got closer, and the mercenaries ran for a room they could barricade, Lucello tightly grabbing Arkin and pulling him along, tossing him down and ducking as a knife flew overhead. The large door closed behind them, a long metal bar coming down to secure it as the other mercenaries scrambled for safety. Arkin tried to catch his breath, pushing himself up onto his knees before someone yanked him up, making his head spin. He was turned right into the angry face of the meathead mercenary, face nearly red in anger. “You didn’t fucking tell us about this!”

The man went to lift an arm, ready to deliver a vicious punch before Lucello pulled them apart. “Now is not the time!” Lucello also seemed shaken, voice not allowing any room for arguments, but his face was set.

The dark-skinned man, Arkin thought his name was Wally, let out a string of curses, showing off his phone. “No service in this dump,” he spat, and Lucello’s face went smooth, not showing anything. “How we supposed to call for help?”

“Call for help? We’re in the most rundown area in this state, trapped in a concrete casket that even rats are afraid to shit in.” Lucello, ever the charming speak, left the room silent with his words. “Nobody’s coming to help. The only way out is to kill this sonovabitch.”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked right at Arkin. “Lead the way. It’s the only way you’re getting out of here.”

…

The Collector watched from the sidelines as the short shootout happened. He had a small selection of knives at the ready, watching as the creatures got close to his prized piece. Fortunately, Arkin wasn’t the main focus for most of the creatures, but he was still sluggish from his healing wounds, and let his eyes wander when no one could help. And that was when one of the dogs took a chance. It tackled him into a fence, and he kept its nails at bay with his cast. The Collector was about to let a knife fly when Arkin shoved her away with his foot, kicking her in the stomach as he fumbled with his flashlight. He held it strangely between his hands, and the Masked man took a moment to watch. 

As the woman went for him again, he shoved it forward, and it disappeared into her face. The pale man shuffled back as she fell, panting as his eyes darted around. The Collector felt such deep pride. Arkin was desperately weak right now, mending from dozens of severe wounds, trying to fight off drugged up animals with nothing but a slim light, and he still managed to kill one in one hit. He watched as one of the men grabbed Arkin, yanking him back as the dogs got closer, and he felt his back stiffen when the man pulled the smaller man against his chest.

The man **_holding_** Arkin in his _arms,_ the arrogant **fucker,** looked up in that moment, and their eyes locked. He knew the other man, the stupid son of a bitch, probably couldn’t really see much of him, but he did seem to notice the gleam of his knife. The Collector was fuming; this motherfucker was touching something that belonged to him, **_holding_** _HIS_ Arkin far too intimately, and had even broken into **_HIS HOME!_** The man sent him a fierce glare, wrapping an arm around Arkin’s neck to raise his gun, and the masked man snapped. He sent the knife sailing at the stupid man, and the man tossed himself and Arkin to the ground, the knife hitting concrete harmlessly while the doors slammed closed. _I’ll kill them! I’ll kill every. Single._ ** _One._**

The Collector stood, heading back to the entrance. Now he had a use for the carcass taking up space there.  _ Taunt me with what’s mine, I’ll taunt you with yours. _

_ … _

Abby found herself studying this new addition to the Collection, one of the few pieces that would be kept. She had hope they would be able to be friends, what with the girl’s confidence and her soft voice, and wondered what he likes and dislikes were. she didn’t really have many friends before she was taken, and had been solely dedicated to the masked man since she was collected. She had found herself really liking Arkin, especially his strange drawl, but she  _ craved  _ the attention given by him, and that was dangerous. Arkin was the masked man’s, not hers, and she couldn’t afford to get overly attached. She needed a friend. What do friends talk about?

Before she could find something to talk about, she called out to the girl. “Not that one.”

It seemed like an innocuous doorway, but a thin tripwire ran across it, and a large set of blades would fall into her face if she wasn’t careful. She studied it, her face going a little pale, but she turned to look at Abby with...was that respect? “Thank you,” Elena said, and Abby could tell she really meant it. It left her feeling warm. She looked away, not sure how to keep looking into those kind eyes.

“You know,he likes me,” she said, smiling at the floor.

It was true, she knew this, and sometimes she even thought she was his favorite. She didn’t really care much, though, because the kindness in Elena had made her think it was okay to not be his favorite, as long as she wasn’t so lonely. She was about to say something, about to ask Elena if they could be friends, but stopped when said girl winced, grabbing at her right ear. It was then that Abby saw it. It was a hearing aid.

Abby’s heart sank, her smile dropping. Elena was damaged. The hearing aid-she was- _ weak-she won’t last, won’t last like mom didn’t, with her sprained ankle and her horrible, unbearable screaming, she deserved it for what she did, what  _ **_they_ ** _ did!- _

Elena pushed her away, and she blinked, shocked to see three long scratches across her cheek. How did that happen? Elena no longer was looking at her with kindness; now, she stared at her with fear, holding her cheek as blood dripped down. “What’s wrong with you?” She whispered, and Abby felt her heart ache.

_ I didn’t do anything, why are you blaming me? What did I do wrong, why doesn’t she like me?  _ She wanted to ask, but that was when she heard the familiar crunching of boots against the ground, and she dropped, pressing against the wall in the fetal position.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I do wanna say a few things. I’m so glad everyone loves the story, and I wish I could write more at once, but I suffer from PTSD, and it leaves me with very severe highs and lows. Whenever there are pauses, that tends to be the cause. More than anything, I want to write a good story and not give up on it, so I hope the smaller, more frequent updates help tide you all over. I don’t usually talk about it, but I want to let you know I appreciate the love from everyone. 
> 
> On a slightly separate note: the Lucello/Arkin ship isn’t really a thing in this, but it’s more like a way the Collector is seeing it and being very jealous. Lucello will be a bit...aggressive in his desire to protect Elena, so that may be a little shippy. It won’t become a big thing, but since someone liked it, it will be upped a bit.:) Can’t wait until next time!


	49. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, here we see some fun changes! Hope you enjoy.:)

Arkin was leading the group slowly, now feeling unbearably defenseless without even a flimsy light to protect himself with. He shuffled from one place to the next, and he felt an ache building between his shoulders. He hadn’t been on his feet that long, but already, his shoulders were slumping, pulling his spine awkwardly. He couldn’t stay here any longer; if he did, he knew the man would catch him. They slowly made their way into a room that was nearly pitch-black, and Arkin took notice of large, dark containers, ones that were all too familiar in shape and size. They were obviously trunks, but he had never seen any that looked like this before. 

The mercenaries shone their lights back and forth, and suddenly, he saw the outline of a figure; it was a young man, and he was completely naked. He looked terrified, mouth quivering while blood dripped down his chest. “Please help me,” he said, and they took notice of a large contraption around his neck, slicing into his skin.

He was stumbling toward them, crying sharply, and Lucello snapped out, “Stop!”

The young man had one hand raised, as if begging them to take his hand, and he stumbled. “Stay back!” The female mercenary shouted, but the man only slowed for a moment.

“Stop right there, or we’ll shoot,” Lucello threatened, and the man fell to his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks as he grabbed at his throat.

“I didn’t make it,” the young man sobbed, and Arkin already began to back up. This didn’t feel right, he didn’t like where this was going.

“What...didn’t you make?” Lucello sounded uncertain now.

The young man then looked right up at Arkin, his face twisting hatefully. “The Collection,” he spat, and Arkin knew. They needed to get out of this room.

The man shouted at them, and the ominous, clear beeping of a bomb filled the room. The mercenaries all stepped back, and the man’s head shattered, exploding like a water balloon. The nearest mercenary was blinded when blood and brain matter shot straight into his face and eyes, and as he gasped, he could taste the blood. The man stumbled back, wiping at his face, and the heavy clang of metal above him had his head twisted upward. Three thick metal poles were in the ceiling, and as he looked, they began to drop rapidly. He let out a scream, and the poles slammed all the way down to the ground, spearing the large man through the entirety of his torso and leg, one arm, and part of one foot. Blood poured out of him in waves, and Lucello approached with a tight face. This wasn’t that simple anymore. This was one of  _ his  _ people, dead.

In the confusion of it all, Arkin found himself forgotten. He eased himself toward a side exit, blinking harshly, trying to shove the gruesome images out of his head. He had to get out, they would be fine. Even if they weren’t fine, they made their decision when they came to him. Lucello came to  _ him,  _ forced him at gunpoint to show them around this murder house, and wouldn’t even give him a gun to protect himself with. This wasn’t his fault.

...

The Collector had easily finished his little trap across the hotel, searching on his security cameras to see where the group, where  _ Arkin,  _ was. He found his face on the monitors, and watched him cautiously shuffle forward. Arkin had almost no experience in this murder house, had barely seen more than the hallway between his holding cage and the bathroom, and it was clear he was being forced to lead this group around as if he  _ did  _ have experience. He slowly lifted a hand, stroking one of his fingers across the glass of the screen, and felt his chest relax just at the sight of him. Arkin was so close to him, he wouldn’t even have to find a way to lure him out and grab him. Arkin was brought back to him.

Arkin stepped off-screen just as the man from earlier stepped into frame, and the Collector snarled. He  _ hated  _ the fact that this man in particular was so close to Arkin right now,  _ especially  _ considering it was this group that brought Arkin back. He didn’t like that someone else had taken Arkin around as if he belonged to them, when he was the Collector’s! He took a step back, pivoting and headed out to grab Arkin and decimate what was left of the squirming maggots holding him hostage.

He didn’t see Arkin backing away when one of the mercenaries stepped onto a trap. It didn’t matter, though. If he had, he would have smiled.

Arkin was moving closer to him.

…

Lucello was burning with anger when he looked up from his man. Across from him, Paz glanced around, mouth going dry. “Where’s  _ Arkin? _ ” She hissed at Lucello, and he glanced around, feeling his anger turn to panic.  _ Shit. _

Arkin had made in past a wall of nails, pressing his good hand to his mouth to muffle his breathing. He could hear the footsteps of one of the mercenaries behind him, could still smell the coppery scent of blood in the air. He needed to get out, and he couldn’t go backwards, not just because of the mercenary group, but also because of the drugged out men and women in the main hall. He knew there had to be another way to get out, he just had to find it. The next room was separated by thick, foggy plastic, slightly torn in places. It was so dark, he found it impossible to see, but every now and then, a bright light would flash, giving him a picture of where he was. He couldn’t see any traps, couldn’t hear any movement, and felt far too vulnerable in the stale air.

Behind him, out of his sight, a large man loomed. The Collector knew Arkin was getting close, but to think he had gotten away on his own, was near enough to touch…

He crouched under the plastic, eyes glowing as he silently crept closer, arms open to scoop up the smaller man. When they were three steps apart, the light flashed, and Arkin was staring at a large mirror, revealing the room. He saw the large, masked man, eyes focused on his back, hands twitching, so close, it sent a shiver up his spine. He froze, stomach dropping, and before he could run, gloved hands caught him across the chest and mouth, pulling him back against that hot, hard torso. No, no,  _ nononono- _

He struggled in the darkness as he was pulled away, legs kicking out. As Arkin tried to shout and scream through the nitrile, the Collector felt pleasure sink into his lungs, leaving him smirking wide. He had him! He had Arkin again! His arms tightened until the smaller man seemed to tense and choke, relaxing enough for Arkin to breathe. “ _ I missed you,  _ **_Arkin,”_ ** he whispered into his ear, and the man let out a whimper. It was delicious to see how the other man changed for him, became submissive and timid.

“ _ Made it so easy for me,”  _ he mumbled,  _ “came right back, like a good little bitch.” _

Arkin’s heart was racing, and humiliation swelled in his bones, twisting his stomach in knots and making him nearly delirious in fear. **_NO. NOT AGAIN._** He found enough strength to kick, flail, snap back and forth, tossing his head around as he tried to scratch the masked man’s arms. He had to get free, he had to, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t go back…!

…

The Collector was not expecting the sudden change from Arkin. He fought in a terrified fervour, trying to scream as he was dragged back further and further, and the masked man used his strength to lift him up off his feet, twisting around and rushing toward an open room. He slammed the door, then pushed Arkin against it, holding him in place with his body. Then, and only then, he let Arkin’s mouth go. “-Fucking shit, faggot, sonovabitch-“

He slammed his hand back down. “ _ Shhh,”  _ he whispered, “ _ I think you’ve done enough,  _ **_Arkin._ ** _ Keep this up, and I’ll kill your wife and daughter.”  _

As much as he hated to say the word  _ wife,  _ he was done dancing around the threat. He needed Arkin to fully understand what was at risk here. The smaller man tensed, tightly locking his jaw, and the masked man could see Arkin fighting with himself. “ _ Now, I want you to do exactly as I say,” _ he murmured in his ear. “ _ I’ll let your mouth go, so answer me. Will you do as I say?” _

Arkin’s jaw relaxed as his mouth was released, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he spoke. “I hate you. I fucking do. Leave my family alone, and...I’ll listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, we see where this is going. Also, we see the better side to the mercenaries. See you then!

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that you can safely lose up to 40% of all the blood in your body? Around that time, you begin to have organ failure and low blood pressure, sporadic heart rate, and you’ll need immediate medical attention. Wonder how much blood Arkin’s lost?


End file.
